


Legolas and the Balrog

by erobey



Series: Legolas and the Balrog [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-02-13
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 71,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erobey/pseuds/erobey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This little tale takes place shortly after the White Council met in TA 2851 (We are using 'shortly' in the elven perception of such a word). Let's pretend that Legolas and Bilbo were born the same year, 2890, and that no elf has been inside the Wood Elves' Realm since before the Last Alliance, over two thousand years ago. Having lost so many elves, the silvan folk have reverted to a more instinctual means of survival and their Sindar 'guests' go along, having no where else to go that did not include rubbing shoulders with those sneaky Noldor. Features 'good Ada Thranduil', perhaps in a somewhat surprising cultural situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rain, Rain Go Away

Normally he quite liked rain. There was something positively soothing about the incessant spattering of liquid on leaves, an absolute charm invoked by chattering droplets dancing over stone, a significant soporific effect rendered by the sound of gently falling water. Like a thousand thousand polished pearls plinking upon the tiled roof above his rooms, the music of rain always put him to sleep with sweetness and dreams of pleasant days.

Yes, really he loved stormy weather. The slicing glare of lightening bolts diving from the clouds to blast the land and scorch the grass, the raucous din of thunder shaking air and earth alike, the piercing whine of a gale bowing the tops of the tallest trees as if they were mere saplings. All of it was a magnificent show and he never tired of enjoying such entertainment. Rainstorms somehow made fire feel warmer, candlelight more radiant, his favourite chair a cosy refuge. Often such a meteorological turn would find him ensconced within his study, well worn book held before him as a shield against the troubles of the times, relishing the sensation of being entirely safe and beyond reach of any malicious thing upon Arda.

On this particular afternoon, however, he was unable to summon up even the most remotely appreciative notion of the value of rain. Not 'the crops need it' or 'fall rains spare summer's drought' or even 'it is good for the Dorwinion' could find a comfortable place in his consideration of the wet weather this day. No, today he found that he despised the unending torrent pouring in heavy sheets of steely grey from a sky so burdened with bursting clouds it looked ready to collapse unto the very ground. It was as if the ocean was now lifted up, suspended in the air and filtering through a fine sieve, while the gross weight of the water threatened to fracture whatever bonds of black magic held it aloft and send the whole of the Great Sea plunging upon his head at any moment.

Perhaps his recently acquired dislike for pluvial phenomena was because he was out-of-doors slogging through it. It was likely that the belligerent glare with which he occasionally favoured the heavens was due to the fact that said phenomenon had been ongoing for five days and four nights. Mayhap his sudden distaste for the sound of pattering droplets had to do with the unbearable squelchy noise these created when landing determinedly on the soaked tresses of his cold, nay, definitely more like frigidly numb, head. He was saturated right through all the layers of clothing covering his body and Ulmo's icy fingers ran over him, touching and exploring every inch of skin in a most unpleasant and indecent manner.

Lest any mistake be made at this point regarding the intelligence of this poor sopping traveller, such as to wonder why the wretch had not the foresight to carry along a coat as protection against the changes of weather inherent to any journey of more than moderate distance, rest assured our friend was suitably garbed and provisioned for inclemency. The finely made cloak about his shoulders had sufficed well enough the first day of the deluge and even provided passable coverage on the second. By the third dawn, a wan and decidedly dreary lead-coloured one at that, the hood of the cape had absorbed as much as the fibres of the fabric could hold and drooped over his face, flapping with an irritating squish against his nose and forehead with every step his equally miserable and water-logged steed took. He had flung the cowl back with an exasperated and excessively energetic sweep of his arm.

That was on the third day. By sunset of the fifth, heralded by an almost immediate loss of all ability to see through the downpour and thus the need to halt, Erestor was out of patience.

For this worthy elf, valiant warrior and compatriot of such legends as Gil-Galad and Celebrimbror, kinsman to Elrond Lord of Imladris, was indeed the erstwhile traveller struggling through the onslaught. With him rode two other elves from Rivendell; warriors to be his protection should trouble strike. These two watched placidly as their noble leader vented his frustration, sharing a sly look that expressed eloquently the enjoyment their unflappable superior's abrupt loss of composure granted. Yes, this would make a fine tale for the Hall of Fire.

Much waste of bodily warmth was given off to the transparent and unrelenting rain in the form of vile and voluble expletives shouted in five different languages (Quenya, Sindarin, Old Nandorin, Westron, and High Dwarvish), punctuated by gestures of arms, hands and fingers, expressive in their own rights, towards the crowded skies, the muddy, oozing earth beneath the horse's slipping hooves, and the unending ranks of dull brown trees to either side of the well-worn track. Erestor cursed the shortness of the day, the short-sightedness of the dwarves who built a highway with no means of securing shelter along its entirety, and the short-of-wit Wood Elves for being so xenophobic as to make this tribulation necessary. For the travellers could do nothing other than stop, just where they were upon the road, and wait until some semblance of illumination returned, unable to light a fire or rig up shelter under the trees.

The trio had little in the way of choices: (1) get down and sit in the slimy mire, (2) clamber up into the branches, or (3) remain on the animals' backs, hunched over in weary misery until morning. The first option was never even considered. It was quite abominable enough to be this completely cold and wet without the added experience of gritty mud seeping up through one's leggings and into every crevice, crack, and crease available upon one's rear end. The second idea, while initially appearing to hold merit, turned out to be worse.

Climbing trees was not a skill taught to Noldorin warriors and noble statesmen. Assuming it was something any fit and able elf could do, rather than a skill requiring frequent practice, had proved unwise, for as coated with liquid as the bark was the limbs simply would not stay within hands' clasp and boots' purchase. The result was a thoroughly humiliating tumble down into the soup, thus initiating precisely the conditions they had sought to avoid by not reposing on the ground.

So there they were, five days out of Lorien, three of the most uncomfortably drippy and forlorn elves ever to grace the Old Dwarven Road with their splendourous, if somewhat limp and damp, magnificence. In addition to Erestor, aptly considered a noble and wily statesman, though no novice to combat and quite capable with a sword was he, were his companions Toloth (Eight) and Cugu (Dove).

"Valar!" swore Cugu and spat, though what insult his saliva might inflict upon the verily flowing ground was unclear.

"Do not start," warned Toloth. He fingers splashed about in his pockets and retrieved a small tightly wrapped packet. "Here," he said, tossing the item to his comrade. But the streaming water made the air more resistant to such attempts to float things upon it and the little bundle fell to the path with a splat that had a distinct quality of mockery to its emanating vibrations.

"That tears it!" Cugu fumed and slipped from his horse into the ankle deep slurry of ruddy dirt and grabbed up the package fiercely.

"Hear, now, I did not mean to drop it!"

"Aye, nothing but mush, as I suspected!" he seethed after inspecting the contents, which had only seconds ago been a wholesome wafer of lembas, and violently cast the remnants back to the sucking greed of the flowing land. A rather insolent snicker met his hearing and he spun on his heel to glare hard at the elven noble.

"What is the matter with you?" demanded Erestor sternly and glowered back with all the power of a First-age hero.

"I just do not think our situation merits mirth," countered Cugu as he remounted his stallion.

"Nor do I; it was not me," declared Erestor coldly. "Mind your tongue."

"But it has been five days of it!" mourned Cugu, shooting a suspicious glance at Toloth.

"We have been right beside you; it is not news to us!" countered Toloth irritably.

"Well why does it never cease?" the rant continued. "This is unnatural, that is certain! I tell you we are all turned around and going the wrong way! We should go back!"

"How can we be heading in the wrong direction when the road only goes west by east, and we entered upon the eastern side?" reasoned Toloth.

"Yes, calm yourself, Cugu!" ordered Erestor, grimacing even as he spoke the ridiculous name. "It is not uncommon to have rain go on for days. It once did so for ten days straight in Eregion. We will not retreat."

Cugu scowled but remained quiet.

It was unseemly, undignified, and absolutely absurd for a veteran warrior of the Last Alliance of Elves and Men to answer to such a humble designation, in Erestor's opinion. Of course it was not the edhel's true name. He was really Caladchae (Distant Light) and that was more appropriate for a Noldorin elf since it referred to the knowledge and wisdom of Valinor from whence they emigrated. _Oh, all right, we were thrown out, but that was a long time ago._ No one ever called him that and Cugu did not appear to mind. In fact, Erestor had attempted to retrain him to the more prestigious moniker but the warrior never realised he was being spoken to when it was used.

His colleague's name was perhaps worse. Why on Arda would anyone refer to one's self as a cardinal number? Of course he had a proper Noldorin appellation, Cuilvedui (Last Life), that referenced his Naneth's final creative enterprise before leaving for the Undying Lands. For some time Erestor had believed the inu had borne eight offspring, a truly remarkable achievement, but Toloth himself had denied this notion. Whenever Erestor used the warrior's real name, he politely corrected his superior, asking that his chosen designation be substituted. Not wishing to appear either rude or nosy, for he was definitely not the former and only moderately the latter, Erestor had acquiesced without further inquiry.

He had known them for Ages, not that well of course, owing to their differences in station and class. This journey had thrown them together on a more or less continual basis, however, and Erestor had learned the two were lovers; had been for centuries. He further discovered that each had bestowed upon the other, sometime during the mid- to late Second Age, those darling little pet-names. Exactly what circumstances, traits, or events had inspired the selection of these particular words as endearments, Erestor really, truly did not wish to find out.

As far as the meaning of his own name, the noble elf kept that a most carefully guarded secret and not even his best friend, Glorfindel, knew who had bestowed it, when, or what it could possibly mean. Erestor was aware that it was a common source of practical joking on unsuspecting visitors to Imladris. The household cook gave odds on how long it would take the ignorant guest to become completely baffled and give up the presented challenge, that being something along the lines of 'if you can get Erestor to explain where he got his name, there is a bottle of fine Dorwinion awaiting you'. Few had enough sense to forego the bet and frequently Erestor himself had won the resultant booty.

"How much further is it likely to be?" asked Toloth.

"Now who is starting!" railed Cugu and flung a handful of watery silt into his lover's face.

"Oi! I told you I did not drop it on purpose!"

"As I have already mentioned at least twice a day over the course of the trip, I am not sure," snapped Erestor and turned a fractious grimace upon Toloth having registered a very rude giggly snort.

"What? I was only wondering!" whined Toloth, then rounded on Cugu with a snarl as he reached over and tugged his mate's sopping hood down over his face. "Laugh at me, will you?" he hissed, for he had noticed a smug guffaw from that general direction.

"Fie!" shouted Cugu, struggling to unwrap the clinging fabric, angered for he could now detect both his comrades scoffing at him. Just as he pulled it off and bared his tress-plastered head, a small, hard rounded object bounced with a sharp ping right from the crown of it and landed with a little plop into the murky puddles. More sniggers ensued, and all three Noldor realised they were the butt _butts?_ of some rather annoying pranksters' foolery. They exchanged wary glances and shifted their examination upwards. In the dark, drenched air nothing could be seen but the shifting shadows of branches swaying in the wind.

"Show yourselves!" demanded Erestor. "We mean you no harm! We are visitors from the west, here to meet your King and learn of your people and your lands."

"Go home!" a sudden shrill voice piped out from directly above the statesman's head, followed by a rain of a new sort as the travellers were pelted with a barrage of acorns and hazel nuts while their assailants laughed gleefully.

"Ai!"

"Eru's arse!"

"Bugger a Balrog!"

These exclamations only initiated a second volley of mast and louder peals of hilarity that seemed to be coming from several directions at once, accompanied by slurs upon Noldor ancestry and morals. The attack did not last long, however, and soon the three elves heard the giggling diminishing to the north as if their hidden tormentors were retreating into the dense woods, which of course they were.

"Wood Elves!' sneered Cugu and spat again. "Ignorant, uncouth, tree crawlers!"

"I cannot believe old Gandalf thinks there is any value in trying to make allies of these folk. It did not work the last time, you know," added Toloth.

If these reactions seem a bit extreme that is owing to the losses both these warriors endured during the Last Alliance, when the woodland elves were blamed for causing a rather futile raid upon the Black Gates that cost hundreds of immortal lives. That, and the rain, of course.

"Aye, I do realise they are a primitive lot," agreed Erestor, "but the White Council has made its decision. It is not up to us to make it work, but merely to initiate contact once more with these elusive forest dwellers."

Erestor was supposed to remain aloof from such prejudicial interpretations, at least in public, yet he was not in a very conciliatory mood after five days travel under such adverse conditions. The noble Noldo was not blind to Gandalf's imperative, yet was anything but convinced of the effectiveness of their mission, even if he could succeed and re-open Thranduil's Northern Kingdom to the rest of elvendom and the west.

To be entirely fair, it was not so much Gandalf who had suggested the idea as Celeborn, and he had somehow or other coerced Galadriel into backing him, and that of course brought Gandalf on board. Cirdan always sided with Gandalf. Saruman concurred sagely, finding it advisable to re-establish ties between the remaining enclaves of the First-born, and Radagast never disagreed publicly with his superior. That left Elrond standing there _well, sitting there_ with arms crossed and a foul expression etched into his sullen features, the only hold out.

The situation that had called them together was certainly grave. Gandalf had discovered unequivocally that it was indeed Sauron who was stirring up Dol Guldur again and breeding Orcs by the thousands. The Maia had urged an offensive attack upon the fortress to drive the vile disciple of Melkor away once more, but in this the White Wizard had overruled him. No one argued against Saruman's decision, for none believed enough elven forces could be brought together to defeat what appeared to be an ever increasing supply of evil demons, goblins, and men poised to serve Sauron.

Thus the decision to enlist the aid of the Wood Elves, as they had much to bear with the Evil One right in their very midst. Since the Last Alliance, they had retreated to the northernmost reaches of the great forest and rumours abounded as to the increasingly fey and feral nature of these moriquendi. With Oropher dead, the Sindar remnant and the silvan tribes were headed by Thranduil, who had apparently gone to ground, dwelling in caves to evade capture and persecution in Dol Guldur.

The Council had met in 2851 and forty-four years later, in 2895; Elrond had finally given in. The Wise all met in Lorien once more to work out the details, except for Saruman who claimed to be searching for Radagast, last seen along the River Gladden.

The Lord of Imladris was the most likely candidate for the mission; however, he flatly refused to be the emissary. He had some grudge or other against Thranduil and would not bow to him, saying the Sinda was really not any sort of royalty. Gandalf nominated Celeborn, who had to decline because of his marriage to Galadriel, for whom Thranduil had some unreasonable dread associated with the kinslaying at Alqualonde. _Alright, perhaps not completely unreasonable, but it was Ages ago and nothing was ever proved against her anyway._ Then Elrond suggested for Gandalf to do it, but he said it was a matter for elves and proposed Glorfindel. Everyone was happy with that except Glorfindel, who had a nasty habit of attracting bad luck and preferred to remain as far from Sauron as possible.

"No," he said simply and firmly. "Send Erestor, he never gets to do anything even remotely heroic and I am sure feels slighted by such neglect of his diverse skills in both diplomacy and swordsmanship, not to mention savoir faire and finesse. Besides, Thranduil has no reason, as yet, to ban him from the forest."

Well that last remark raised a few eyebrows and many wondered exactly what Glorfindel had been up to for the Wood Elves' King to flat out forbid him to enter the realm, but the Balrog Slayer promptly sealed his lips and refused to elaborate.

There had been no one left upon which Erestor could foist the duty, however, for Galdor was in the Havens visiting with Cirdan. Elladan and Elrohir volunteered, but their father denied their request with no explanation other than to say "Caradhras", after which the twins grew morose and silent and eventually rode out to kill Orcs. And thus Erestor, Cugu, and Toloth departed from the comfort and security of fair Lothlorien _Where it is nearly always sunny and warm, making rain and thunderstorms seem a delightful diversion._ to seek out the Kingdom of the Wood Elves and re-initiate diplomatic relations with Eru's less wise and more ferocious children.

As the unending torrential rain drilled upon his pate throughout the eternity of the fifth dreary, deluged night, Erestor decided that when he returned to Imladris he was going to have to find an appropriate means of expressing his gratitude to Glorfindel for the glowing recommendation which had secured his participation in such an illustrious undertaking.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

  


##### Beta'd by Sarah AK, remaining errors are mine alone.   _Italics indicate thoughts._

  


  


###  **II. Come Again Another Day**

About one hour before the termination of Ithil's tour, far too close to the approaching day to allow for any chance of sleep, the downpour ceased.  Somewhere overhead the stars came forward as the clouds disintegrated into fast moving wisps of misty film brusquely escorted from the Woodland Realm's vicinity by an insistent breeze from the Southwest.

Of course, with the close overhang of intertwined branches barring their vision, the Noldor Expedition could not enjoy the twinkling glimmer of Varda's Gifts nor view the nearly full face of Ithil sinking low toward the bosom of the earth, glowing all peachy gold as if the light of Anor was already waking, which it was.  Nonetheless, the three elves sighed in accord with great gusto when the rain desisted, grateful for the chance to dry out before reaching their destination.

This blissful state of rejoicing was short-lived, however, for Ariel arrived quickly and with alarming vehemence, creating the most stultifying humidity any of them had ever experienced beyond the luxury of the famed hot springs of fair Imladris.  There, the curling ribbons of lifting vapours swirling around one's head were welcome, relaxing, sensual mixtures of water and air that rendered the psyche calm, contented, and completely complacent.  This pleasurable ambience was significantly improved by being naked, or at least mostly so, the addition of cool drinks concocted from flavoured herbal teas braced with Miruvor, gifted fingers kneading tired, tense muscles in long, languid massages, and gentle, harmonious music from various groups of minstrels and musicians drifting through the background.

None of the accoutrements of the lifestyle of the immortal and renowned of Rivendell were currently present, however, and the Noldor soon discovered that being cold and wet was unpleasant while being saturated and suffocated in stifling heat was an unbearable torture.

By mid-morning, or so they judged it to be by the quality of subdued green-tinted light that took the place of sunshine under the claustrophobic cover of the canopy, the esteemed emissaries from Imladris had shed cloaks, tunics, and shirts.  It did not help, for the exposed, sweaty expanse of bare flesh attracted an inordinate amount of biting, stinging, bloodsucking insects, elven perspiration being slightly sweet and hence aromatic in the way that rare orchids are.

A persistent swarm of gnats, mosquitoes, flies, bees, wasps, and even the occasional hummingbird hovered around the three travellers.  The pathway rang with shouts and curses of exasperated annoyance, the slap and whack of hands clapping skin in futile attempts to kill the vile biters, the icky scrapey noise of nails energetically scratching the accumulating welts, and the plodding clop-clop of the beleaguered horses who had to endure all the racket and carry the complaining elves around.

By mid-afternoon the small group had advanced only a fourth of the way along the Dwarven road transecting the forest. No further contact between them and the denizens of the trees, other than the bugs and birds, had occurred.  Though he would not admit it, Erestor was beginning to think they would pass straight through the murky woods and reach the valley of the Anduin without ever finding Thranduil's hidden Kingdom.  Cugu and Toloth knew this but kept silent, fervently hoping this would transpire and they could then abandon the quest, having given it a go, and continue on through the Misty Mountains and thus end up back home before the New Moon.

The noble statesman called a halt and asked, for the third time that day, for Cugu to pass him the only map available of the Great Forest, a hopelessly outdated document made by Dwarves.  Unfortunately, the cartographers had never ventured beyond the great feat of engineering that bisected the woods, commonly referred to as the Dwarven Road.  Thus no trails or landmarks were noted other than cryptic slogans such as 'beware spiders', 'wargs' dens near at hand', 'possible Orcs' lairs', and 'bloody Wood Elves skulking somewhere North, avoid at all costs'.  As Erestor examined the map attentively, the warriors consumed the rest of their horribly waterlogged lembas and drank copiously from their canteens, for they were shedding away pints through their pores under the relentless heat.

"How many leagues would you estimate we have travelled since entering under the eaves?" asked the esteemed advisor to Elrond Half-elven.

"Oh, at least ten or twelve," offered Cugu.

"Nay, probably closer to twenty," opined Toloth.

"How do you figure that?" demanded Cugu.

"Well it is simple, just consider the length of the hours travelled, the number of days journeying, the relative speed of the horses, the quality of the pathway, which is fairly good, and the environmental conditions, which are admittedly terrible," Toloth smugly replied.

"Well none of that is possible to calculate accurately."

"Of course it is possible!  What do you mean, are you saying I am incompetent?"

"Nay, I am just pointing out that those things vary too much and…"

"Silence!" ordered Erestor.  "If either of you had ever looked at the map you would know the woods are three hundred miles across here.  That is one hundred leagues, so we cannot have gone so short a distance, Cugu, after two days."

"Hah!" crowed Toloth victoriously and Cugu made a face at him.

"So I believe we have gone no more than twenty-five leagues and probably less considering the drudging pace we have been forced to take," continued their leader.  "That leaves us with a problem.  We cannot continue on the road any longer, for the Wood Elves' fortress is located closer to Erebor and the River Running than to the vale of Anduin.  If we go further down this track, we shall never find them.  We must venture into the weald."

The two warriors shared dour expressions, for they had absolutely no desire to leave the path and head off into the dark and forbidding closeness of the towering trees.  No one knew what was in there; no one who had ever been in had made it back out to talk about it.  One or two Wood Elves were seen from time to time in Laketown, for they came to trade with the humans there, but they did not invite others back with them and when they left they went by boat and poled up the river.  It was said they had a rather strong dislike for the scar cut into their beloved woods by the Naugrim and refused to set foot upon it.

Now it might be wondered at this point exactly why the Noldor were using this road instead of going to Laketown, meeting these trade-elves, and simply accompanying them back to Thranduil's halls on their fine sturdy barges?  Well this was definitely the sensible thing to do and Erestor himself had proposed it, but Gandalf had insisted they use the overland route and then 'cut through' to the Enchanted River, finally using that as their guide to reach the hidden city. At exactly what point the expedition should plunge into the brush and hack their way to the sleepy river he left to Erestor's wisdom.

Gandalf's reasons had consisted of needing to know the quality of the byway and whether or not any trolls might be trying to commandeer it and set up tolls.  He had also made some reference to arachnids and wolves and the need to gauge the strength of the Wood Elves defences.  Erestor had rather disliked the plan, as it essentially made himself and his comrades into a sort of bait designed to draw out whatever manner of danger might be lurking beyond the path, and depended on the belief that the Wood Elves would rally to their defence if they got cornered in a tight spot.

"I am not sure it is such a wise idea to stray from this road, Lord Erestor," ventured Toloth tentatively.

"Aye, there is no trail and we will soon become hopelessly lost among the trees," joined in Cugu.

"It would be different if we could see the sky and judge our general direction," continued Toloth.

"Yes, I see your points.  However, we must try and find the route.  One of us needs to climb up a tree and look for any indication of a footpath beyond the margins," said Erestor.

Cugu had just opened his mouth to object to this when an ear-splitting high-pitched whistling scream jarred their nerves as a brightly fletched arrow sang through the air and embedded in the trunk of a tree just over his shoulder.  Never had the any of the three warriors encountered a missile that produced so voluble a sound upon its firing.  It made them all jump and their valiant war-horses jittered in fright.  With startling speed the trio found themselves hemmed in on both sides of the road by drawn bows with knocked arrows trained upon them, held in the skilful grip of a small party of silvan warriors.  A small war party, from the looks of them.

"BaQa'!" shouted one and spat.  "NaDevvo' peghoS!" (Expletive deleted!  Go away!)  She was scantily clad in a bright blue loincloth of fine silk with a matching band tied round her bosom.

She had locks the colour of maple leaves in fall, seldom seen among the First-born, piled up high upon her head and within the intricately woven hive were inserted twigs, leaves, a long green and gold barred grouse feather, and a white polished bone of some large animal.  Her pale skin was painted from face to feet with emblems and talismans in a pale blue outlined in red.  The designs depicted a dragon curling around her left leg while its long tail trailed down her right.  Her arms were adorned with crude runes and animal signs.  The fair features of the silvan inu were likewise decorated.  Around her eyes a mask was drawn and each cheek had a lightning bold drawn in ochre while her lips were dyed the same dark maroon and outlined in the pastel cobalt hue.

The Noldor gaped at her in speechless amazement; unable to respond even if what she had yelled had been intelligible.

"nISwej, g'day't garg!" (Do not interfere here, worthless animal!) another hollered and loosed a silent arrow that sliced so closely to Cugu's head that three strands of his hair were carried away and nailed to the bark of the tree behind him, yet not a drop of his blood was drawn.

The elf was raven-haired and his clout was of purple satin with gold embroidery all over the fabric.  His face was painted white to look like a skull, his ebony eyes circled in black kohl and his lips overprinted to mimic the lifeless eternal grin of death.  His locks were completed braided in plaits one inch thick and the entire mass was held up atop his head, forming a fountain-like topknot.  Each braid ended with either a large shell or what looked like arrow points.  All of his body was made to look like a skeleton, as if he had immersed himself in coal dust and then cleaned off patches to indicate the pattern of the bones, which he had.

"Fah! Crak-makh togh-uruk selah!" (Ugh! May the carrion eaters choke on your flesh!) a third cried.

This one was golden-haired and had a simple covering of emerald green velvet about his waist.  His hair was coiled high like a helmet and into it was thrust a magnificent array of hawk feathers that formed a sort of splayed tail such as courting turkeys sport in spring.  His fierce blue eyes were outlined in red and he had an image of an eagle with wings outspread painted in red and brown upon his chest.  Around his neck he wore an overly elaborate necklace composed of what appeared to be dragon's scales and bear's teeth.  Both of his nipples were pierced with small rings of gold.  Down his right leg a long inscription ran that promised death to all intruders while on the right was an image of a black boa swallowing a hare.

Never had the Imladrian elves seen such primitive immortals and, all three having been present at the Last Alliance where they had observed numerous Wood Elves, they were shocked at the devolution of Eru's Children.  These beings looked less civilised than the Forodwaith inhabiting the Grey Mountains and the lands to the north of those forbidding peaks.  The poor throwbacks seemed to lack the gift of true speech, or were sputtering some Orcish/Dwarvish pidgin dialect perhaps, the Noldor were unsure which.

The Wood Elves were eleven in number, standing amid the limbs nearly naked but for their weapons and cloth clouts in bizarre colours of purple, yellow, blue, green and red.  Four were females and these also had narrow bands of fabric binding their breasts, dyed to match their loincloths.  All the fey bodies and faces were inscribed with garish and rustic emblems and signs of power, runes and spells and animal shapes.  Snakes slithered up an arm or down a muscular thigh, their fair countenances were obscured beneath painted masks and marked with stylised raptor's talons, dragon's teeth or wolf's jaws.  One of the females, fiercely bearing her teeth and snarling, had an incongruously beautiful butterfly adorning her features.

All of them had their hair caught up upon their heads in some fashion, bound high in outlandish mounds of braids and curls into which feathers and twigs, leaves and bones had been woven.  Besides the aforementioned blonde, red, and black-haired ones, seven were brunette and a second was tressed in raven's black. Two of the males had golden rings attached to their nipples and one of the females had a tremendous silver hoop dangling from the end of her nose through which she kept insolently sticking her tongue out at the interlopers.  The other three iny (female elves) and one brunette anu (male) had small jewelled studs embedded in their navels.

About their wrists all displayed cuffs of mithril instead of leather vambraces and bangles of shell and bone beads jangled around their ankles and their elbows. At each one's biceps, either left or right depending on what hand the warrior used, a leather sheath held a small dagger and another was strapped to the calf of the corresponding leg.  Each warrior had a leather harness and quiver filled with brightly fletched arrows and held a superbly crafted bow, made for serious killing, undecorated beyond some quite elegantly carved Sindarin inscriptions and incantations of preservation and potency.

Now the Noldor were stunned for a variety of reasons.  First, these woodland elves had taken them completely by surprise, sneaking up on them so silently even their elven hearing missed the approaching ambush.  Second, their appearance was startling, shocking even. Third, the three strangers had no idea what the feral creatures were saying and fourth, regardless of the language barrier, it was obvious that the aboriginal elves were definitely displeased with the visitors' presence.

"Please!  Be calm.  We have not come here to do you harm," said Erestor quietly but urgently, addressing the male with the ostentatious necklace.

"qaHarbe'bej!" (I certainly do not believe you!) came the elf's mocking reply and his comrades snickered rudely.

"lam SuHo'Du!" (Your teeth are dirty!) the female redhead said, laughing and pointing at Toloth.  More laughter ensued.

"What language is that?" Cugu demanded in exasperation.

"Valar, why do you think I would know?" fumed Toloth.

"Quiet!" snapped Erestor.

"yIjatlhQo'!" (Do not speak!) shouted the bone-face, jumping up and down on his branch and pointing his bow at Cugu menacingly.  The other black haired one, identically made-up but for a bright orange loincloth, seemed to be having difficulty deciding whether to burst out laughing or join his brother's outrageous dance.  He did both.

"qoHpu'!" (Fools!) giggled Silver-Hooped Septum, and no one was certain if she was directing her remark to the Noldor or her cohorts.

"Peace!  I am Erestor of Imladris and these two are Cugu and Toloth," began the advisor but was cut off by the elves sudden smirking laughter as they repeated his comrades' names amongst themselves, pointing and giggling.  His eyes narrowed as he watched them cavorting among the branches, sharing insulting references to them in their strange gibberish, no doubt.  Something about this seemed vaguely familiar, in an odd sort of way he could not define, for the experience was definitely unique, and that was saying a lot considering Erestor was a First-ager.

"Please put down your weapons, we are unarmed!" he tried to get their attention and succeeded as Necklace Male, apparently their leader, held up his hand and the others fell silent.

"chejupbe'.  qavoqbe'," (You are not our friends.  I do not trust you.) he said quite solemnly, which was quite an achievement considering his outlandish appearance.

"naDevvo' SujaHnIs," (You need to leave here.) added Butterfly Face, glaring at Erestor savagely.

"We do not understand you," Erestor continued patiently.  "Yesterday you spoke briefly in our language; there must be much we say that you comprehend.  Please, go and tell your King we are here."

At that moment every one of the fey creatures abruptly turned north, simultaneously stood, and gazed with what could only be described as abject dread into the depths of the forest.  In seconds they had lowered their weapons, bows stowed away at their backs and arrows returned to quivers, their quarry forgotten.

"g'day'a!" (Sh–!) said Butterfly Face.

"How did he find out?" said Orange-clad Skeleton in perfect Sindarin.

"ylSo'!" (Hide!) screamed Necklace Male, discarding his role as brave leader, and disappeared into the leaves.

"ghobe', ylqet!" (No, run!) corrected Raven Dancer and took off into the heights, followed immediately by the remainder of the troop.

Moments later the three Noldor were left staring up into the silent empty branches, alone on the road once more.  They returned their disbelieving eyes to scrutinise one another, as if to be certain all were in agreement as to what had just taken place, but before they could even begin to discuss the situation a new disturbance erupted.  It sounded as though a great hunting party was crashing through the woods somewhere close by, complete with baying hounds, singing horns, and the thundering hooves of mighty horses.

Next, the Imladrian delegation heard a variety of angry shouts and curses, uttered in completely comprehensible Sindarin, spoken in thoroughly disgusted tones of outraged disappointment, of which 'go to your quarters and await punishment' was the principle directive.  As these orders were being called, presumably to their former captors, a great deal of petulant grumbling and whining ensued, also pronounced in the finely accented syllables of the Grey-elven tongue, the primary argument of which seemed to be: 'only having a bit of fun'.

And then, as if magically conjured from the shadows between the trunks, a superb dapple-grey charger stepped onto the path, two huge short-coated salt-and-pepper hunting hounds at either shoulder.  The long silver mane was draped over the elegantly arched neck like a mantle spun from mithril threads.  His proud equine head was tipped in soft charcoal at the muzzle and ears, the latter trained keenly forward as nostrils flared and snuffed the breeze to taste the Noldor's scent.  Intelligent eyes of liquid brown peered from either side of the broad white forehead, regarding the Imladrian horses and imparting an imperious hello.

Upon this majestic steed was seated an elf of proud bearing and fair countenance, ageless as were all the First-born, golden-hair bound back in braids and with eyes of lapis blue that seemed to flicker and spark as if reflecting the light of a hidden flame. He was tall for a Wood Elf and broad of shoulder, with a fine aquiline nose and merry smiling lips borne above a stubborn chin upon a firm jaw.  He sat his hunter without need of gear or tack, exuding an air of authority none would question.

He was dressed richly; the garments of fine silk in olive and ochre were embroidered in small diamonds, pearls, and beryl gems, while the cloak about his shoulders was from the skin of a spotted wolf, edged in ermine of silver and sable.  His sword belt was encrusted with emeralds and rubies of tremendous size and clarity, the scabbard likewise graced with precious stones, but the hilt of the weapon was plain, wrapped tight in leather binding to make the grip secure.  Even were the crown of woven leaves about his brow absent, the regal mien of this stunning elf proclaimed him to be Thranduil, King of the Woodland Elves.

"Mae govannen!" (Well Met!), spoke he graciously, right hand uplifted in greeting.  "Welcome to my Greenwood!  Please allow me to beg forgiveness for the unacceptable ambuscade perpetrated upon such worthy travellers from afar. I give you my word the culprits shall be dealt with appropriately.  I am Thranduil, son of Oropher.  Erestor, seneschal to the Lord of Imladris, I remember you well!  To what does my humble country owe the honour of so noble a visitor?"

> **A/N:** _Please do not be alarmed if the language the wild elves were speaking seemed as unintelligible to the reader as to the Noldor; it is because this is a language never spoken in Middle-earth.  However, it is a 'real' language and if anyone out there knows it, and can correct errors I may have inadvertently made, please do email me and let me know._

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Beta'd by Sarah AK, remaining errors are mine alone.   _Italics indicate thoughts._

### III. Let the Wood Elves Laugh and Play

  
Now the relief of the Imladrian councillor on encountering the Sinda King was great, both because he was loath to return to his Lord defeated and because this elf was not garbed and decorated like some savage from Harad.  The Wood Elves' ruler was regarding Erestor with bemused curiosity and his lips seemed pressed too tightly together as they smiled.  The advisor realised this might possibly be to withhold merriment that was certainly at the Noldor's expense. For, barring the paint, feathers, and bones, the proud emissaries were nearly as under-dressed and dishevelled in appearance as their would-be attackers and hardly looked like representatives of the Wise.  Erestor tried to project some semblance of refinement and deportment as he lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, meeting the King's dancing eyes with stoic resolve.

"Mae Govannen, King Thranduil!" he said soberly and bowed his head respectfully.  "I bring greetings from the elven realms to the West!  We have been sent on a mission of great urgency, Lord, to seek your aid and that of your good people."

"Indeed?" the King's brow creased in surprised concern.  "What can be amiss for Imladris and Lorien to require the assistance of the Nandor?  Say not that Men cry once more for the blood of the First-born to be let upon the altar of their mortal doom!"

All three Noldor cringed at that, for it was true the Wood Elves had faired worst of all in the Last Alliance and felt bitterly toward the humans for failing to resist the call of greed and the lust for power.  Isildur's Folly, the woodland folk called it, but it was spoken in notes of cold hatred for the loss of the Ring at their borders had brought the Necromancer to their lands.  Dol Guldur was an inexorable pestilence and a blight unto their world, and all around them the Greenwood was slowly succumbing to the black Shadow that sought the dread talisman of Sauron.

"Alas!  It is not for the sake of mortal Men that I am sent, but for the salvation of Arda herself!" said Erestor seriously and waited to learn if the famous temper of Oropher had passed to the veins of his youngest son and only surviving kin, and whether his statement would trigger it.

This pronouncement was greeted with a deep frown of pensive introspection as the elven King turned his gaze away and looked back amid the towering trees, an expression of deep sorrow suffusing the clear indigo orbs.  It was most disheartening to behold, like the sun overtaken by the thick obscurity of advancing ranks of stormy clouds, and all of them, horses, hounds, and elves alike bowed their heads before Thranduil's grief.

Then he shook himself a little, lifted up his drooping heart and smiled his beaming grin, his eyes twinkling once more with mirthful cheer, perhaps yet tinged a bit with pain, as they returned to meet his unexpected guests'.

"A grave matter indeed, Lord Erestor!  Yet not one to be settled here upon this accursed disfigurement so casually referred to as a road!  Let us away!  Join us!  My warriors and I are hard upon the hunt, and if you would lend your swords to the task we would not be displeased!"

"Aye!  The trail cools!  Forth the Hunters!"

"I did promise a trophy to my beloved!"

"A feast!  We must give cause to celebrate this eve!"

"Three more blades would be welcome help!"

This soft murmur of rejoinders, all expressing encouraging agreement, erupted from above and behind the King, and the Imladrians suddenly realised they had been silently surrounded again.

The woodland warriors were all dressed inconspicuously in green and brown clothing, simple tunics and leggings, and were a fairly even mix of male and female.  Some were perched amid the treetops as had the strange fey creatures preceding them while others could vaguely be detected upon horseback between the bolls and bark.  They all wore bow and quivers upon their bodies and some held long knives, delicate and deadly.  They were mostly brown-headed, with infrequent glimpses of black and a startling one with hair the colour of moonbeams.  That one was female and she was richly dressed while upon her brow was a coronet of iridescent pearls.  It was she who had called the welcome to the strangers' service.

Cugu and Toloth shared cunning grins and unsheathed their worthy swords with ringing flourish, crashing them together with a hearty shout.

"We are with you!" called Cugu, answering for all the Noldor.

The elven King laughed aloud and drawing his mighty weapon held it aloft as he looked among the branches at his warriors.

"An Cúroniel ar 'nin Tawarwaith!" (For Cúroniel and for the Tawarwaith!) his deep voice boomed out into the air as the dapple-grey steed reared upon his hind legs, twirled about, and with a loud trumpeting neigh plunged into the brush, hounds beside him stride for stride.

"An Cúroniel ar 'nin Tawarwaith!" the Wood Elves answered as one, a sounding blast of silver horns called out the command to resume the chase, and they were off!

Toloth pointed his horse at the same spot just vacated by Thranduil's charger and urged him forward without hesitation, Cugu and Erestor right on his heels, but even so they nearly lost sight of the elusive silvans as soon as the darkness of the woods closed round them.  A sharp, short, growling 'woof' captured their attention and there, pacing patiently at their side, was another of the tremendous hunting dogs.  Confident they all understood he was to be their guide, the hound loped forward just ahead of Toloth's steed.

Erestor was slightly dismayed to find himself part of the Wood Elves' sport, for he had hoped to be taken straightaway to the hidden stronghold, there to complete his mission and gratefully head for home.  Yet he could not gainsay the King's offer without giving offence and would look doubly dour if he over-ruled his companions' obvious delight in the invitation, so he joined the melee.

Once his eyes adapted to the shadowy world under the eaves, he had to revise that somewhat derogatory definition.  The woodland warriors were moving at steady speed in calm precision, their ranks above and on the ground creating a multidimensional wedge formation such as he had never witnessed before.  He was stunned to find that the elves running through the trees kept pace with the horses below them, and alerted one another to changes in the direction of their quarry with clever signals that mimicked the whistles and songs of birds.  Other than this, they were absolutely silent, even the hounds and the horses progressed with eerily quiet quickness, not even the hooves nor so much as the rustle of a single leaf disturbing the solitude.

For better than an hour the hunting party continued thus, grimly determined and dedicated, yet no sign of the pursued game was seen.  Just when Erestor was starting to wonder what manner of animal required this large number of stalkers, the nature of their prey was revealed.  The scouts ahead sent back a rapid series of calls reminiscent of the cry of hawks on the prowl.  Immediately the hounds raced forward into the lead, baying with their excitement and bearing fangs of white that nearly glowed.  Loud cacophonous growling and yelping commenced, into which was mixed the foul coarseness of Black-speech cursing and shouting.  Directly the proud fugue of the mithril horns blared out the charge and the Wood Elves unleashed their wrath upon the demon-spawn of Dol Guldur.

The next few strides of his charger carried Erestor into a broad clearing among the trees, and for a moment the glare of the full sun blinded his sight.  The harsh caterwauling of a charging warg-rider sharpened his view and he unsheathed his sword, beheading the soldier of dread as his stallion pivoted and danced, evading the gnashing jaws of the huge beast carrying the evil creature.  As soon as that one was dispatched, another appeared in its place, and as the Noldo battled his opponents his senses detailed the rest of the warriors' efforts.

Close at hand were Cugu and Toloth, swinging their mighty swords amid the enemy like scythes through tall grass, reaping blood and death.  The Elven King and the silver-haired female fought side by side, and the inu was singing a solemn dirge as she wielded two slender blades, darting them in and out among the mob, the swaying motion of her arms almost mesmerising.  Indeed the words of her chant seemed to drive terror into the shrunken hearts of the orcs, and they fought one another in their haste to flee from her advance.

Everywhere Erestor turned he could see the orcs engaged in a deadly struggle, yet they were doomed.  From above a constant hail of missiles pierced armour and bones as the hidden archers shot them down.  Upon the forest floor the mounted elves crashed through the thronging glamhoth, slicing and slaying with ferocious dedication, the light of rage shining within their immortal eyes as their skilled hands cleaved and decapitated, dismembered and gutted the gruesome servants of Sauron.  A smaller party formed among the riders and the archers and separated from the main host, hounds at their heels, taking off after the few orcs able to get free of the attack, and these elves were not seen again by the Noldor until much later.

Gradually the battle wound down.  The sound of arrows cutting air and steel swords clashing diminished and died away.  The song of the elf with Ithil-hued hair was the only thing to be heard, and slowly all the other elves joined her in the sombre anthem.  In a great rising crescendo the tune changed in timbre, becoming a triumphant hymn of victorious glory, yet underneath their bold melody the sense of deep sadness remained.  They were singing the names of the most recently lost Wood Elves due to the evil of Sauron, including those who gave their lives at Dagorlad. At length all voices fell away and only Thranduil's remained, telling the toll of woe extracted from among his people, and thus was heard Oropher's name, and that of his first born, Langlagor (Swift Sword) and last spoken was Cúroniel, for whom the chase was called forth.

Erestor knew not who this elf was, but that she was beloved among all the Wood Elves was plain as tears were shed and prayers whispered.  A moment of silence followed and not until the last muted overtone of this tribute dissipated did the forest again stir and the normal bustle and chatter of birds and wildlife return.

The King guided his stallion to the Noldor and smiled a weary grin.  "Are you well?  Have you taken any hurt?" he inquired with concern.

Toloth grunted and spat. "Nay, that scum of Morgoth could not touch us!"

"Well said; I am thankful for it!" Thranduil's deep laugh was jolly as he leaned forward and slapped the warrior's shoulder soundly.  "Yet I implore you all to take the remedy being prepared by my wife, for even the slightest of scrapes from one of these fiendish blades may introduce deadly poison into the body."

"Poison!  The vile cowards!" cried Toloth.

"Aye, we will heed your advice," added Erestor.

"What of your troops, oh King?  How have they faired in this sortie?" queried Cugu with equanimity.

"Well enough; only minor wounds among the elves and horses but three hounds fell.  I thank you for your aid in our endeavour and ask pardon for not recalling your name, though your countenance I have seen upon the battle plane before this day."

"No apology required, good King!" Toloth waived away the plea.  "I am Toloth and this is Cugu, my mate.  You are right; we met at Dagorlad long ago."

"Ah.  I am pleased to have your names and your company once more." Thranduil gripped each by the forearm in turn.  "Now, excuse me, for I must assist in disposing of this wreaking mess."  With that and a polite nod he turned his steed away and rejoined the silver-haired elf.  Together they dismounted, as had all the other elves, and began dragging the remains of the foul orcs together to be burned.

The sight of the King and this inu, whom must surely be his wife and Queen, participating in the noisome task astonished the visitors. The Noldor advisor shared swift and silent communion with his countrymen and then all three alit and added their backs to the toil, pausing when the silver queen passed them each a small vial of amber coloured liquid.  She did not speak but neither did she budge until they had swallowed down the potions, after which she smiled gaily and returned to her husband's side.

From out of the trees the rest of the warriors had come down also, and Erestor was surprised that their number was far fewer than the thick barrage of arrows had suggested to his mind.  There were twenty-four archers and an equal number of cavalry and hounds.  Only the dogs had suffered fatally and those three the elves  wrapped reverently within their cloaks and draped over the backs of horses to be returned to the stronghold.  This small battalion had defeated a throng of orcs four times greater in numbers, not including the wargs.  The Imladrian advisor was suitably impressed.

All the elves were soon working diligently, sorting through the havoc of dismembered bodies and strewn battle gear, searching for anything serviceable that could be gleaned from the grotesque display.  Erestor understood what sort of trophy had been meant by the earlier remark as a call went up and a fine dagger was held high.  Even from a distance he could see his was an elven blade and surmised the woodland folk were scavenging through the mass looking for items lost by kin in previous encounters. Before long every worthy tool and weapon had been retrieved and the hulking mound of putrefying flesh was ablaze.

The hunting party divided then, with archers remaining, some on ground to oversee the burning and others climbing high to keep watch for any retaliation among the demons' fellows.  The cavalry mounted as the King strolled back to his guests, dapple-grey by his side.

"Again, your efforts are more than we expected from outlanders!" he said with a gracious bow.  "Allow me to offer you the hospitality of my House.  I bid you return to my stronghold to be honoured for your selfless deeds on behalf of my people.  A feast!" He called out the last words and a cry of jubilation rose up from his soldiers.

"It is a most welcome invitation, King Thranduil, and we gladly accept," and Erestor bowed as well, but at this the Sinda laughed and clasped him by the hand.

"Nay, call me by no title, for this day you have aided my House and that of the noblest and oldest among these good folk.  A wrong that can never be healed has at least been partially avenged, and your swords joined ours without ever asking the reason for our foray against the Darkness or considering the risk to your persons.  You are worthy to be counted as kinsman among the Tawarwaith!"

Another loud chorus of affirmation rang through the clearing, signifying everyone's agreement with the Sinda Lord.

Erestor, Cugu, and Toloth shared their surprise at this announcement.  But Erestor was wise and understood that this had all been as a test for them and had they been found wanting, no further converse with the Wood Elves would have been possible.  Thus, he was silently grateful to Cugu for his impetuous acquiescence to enlist with the hunt.

The Noldor remounted as well and fell into step behind the King and his Queen upon their fine horses as the remainder of the patrol assumed ranks to either side, once more spread out among the trees in the shape of a spearhead.  The return to the hidden fortress was boisterous and noisy in dramatic counterpoint to the bleak solitude of the long pursuit.  Several lays of cheerful mien were sung among the small troop, recounting tales of days long past and heroes from the timeless expanse of years before the arising of Anor and Ithil.  Their speed was leisurely after the exertion of battle and its subsequent foul chore.

The light had turned to subdued shadows of brown and dun as dusk deepened and evening was hurrying under the heavy cover of leaf and limb when at last the twinkling as of stars bound upon the earth appeared in the distance.  This was the gleam cast by hundreds of silver lanterns lining pathways on the ground and hanging among the branches.  The trees thinned away as the path broadened into a proper road and the riders could conglomerate, forming ranks two abreast as they cantered between the trunks of two tremendous beeches, each one easily the width of six adult elves standing side by side with arms outspread. These marked the limits of the Wood Elves' city and their bark was carved with magnificent skill, depicting in miniature the same track winding through the woods and over an elegant bridge toward the looming citadel.

Long before they reached this causeway and the Great Gates on its opposite side, the Noldor were goggle-eyed from staring this way and that at the exotic location illumined by flickering lamplight.  Excitedly, Cugu pointed to the bright standards that had somehow appeared within the riders' hands, each pair of elves bearing the emblem of their particular House.  These banners matched various sections of the city, for the same design could be seen carved into the guarding trees flanking the entry to those enclaves' designated holdings among the woods.

Most of these were named for specific species of trees, so that oak, hemlock, elm, ash, pine, myrtle and yew all had elven Houses associated with them.  Thranduil himself carried the beech leaf banner of his father's House.  Beside him his wife bore a standard taller than any other all in white satin and upon this pristine field was emblazoned a great incense cedar worked in silk embroidery.  No banners among the woods matched it.  As the couple moved forward, everyone bowed low before them as befitted the rulers of a royal House.

Besides the various affiliations to plant life, there were also clans dedicated to the hawk and the boa, the wolf and the panther, the stag and the serpent.  One banner showed a shimmering replica of a water dragon, and Toloth nudged Cugu; it was the same as that adorning their fearsome female foe of the early hours.  Then they noticed the flag of the Monarch Butterfly and the one of the Raven, and felt they understood even less the bizarre encounter with the primal elves.  It surely seemed those aboriginal beings had purposefully presented emblems of their heritage, yet all of the silvans the Noldor could see now were simply yet conservatively dressed, much as any elf one might encounter beneath the Mellyrn in Lorien. 

High up amid the branches the elves' dwellings were built into the trees and from the delicate tracery of latticework balconies matching flags hung down and drifted lazily in the humid breeze.  The homes reminded Erestor of the elaborate talans seen in Lorien, yet the bright buntings and dancing lanterns leant the whole place the atmosphere of a carnival or a bazaar.  Each dwelling had several levels and some of these were shielded from view by the clever placement of silk draperies.  Every flet had an awning of dark green and brown silk that could be rolled up, as some were, or stretched out to provide protection from the elements.  He could see small streamers of blue smoke twisting high in long, thin curlicues toward the canopy, and knew the inhabitants must keep covered braziers in their talans for cooking, just like the Galadhrim.

Every tree seemed to hold a dwelling, and every home appeared to house a family of several generations, for the inhabitants of any given talan were many. As the procession made its way through the street, numerous folk gathered to welcome home the hunters.  As soon as they were within earshot, the warriors began calling out to loved ones, sharing news of their success and the ensuing feast, and adding in the story of the gallant outlanders.  Now that word brought a veritable crowd to the fringes of the road and among the over-arching limbs as everyone tried to get a look at these strange elves, for none had come within their city since before the Great Battle that ended the previous Age.  That was more than two millennia hence.

Mild laughter and slender smiles, stares ranging from curious to shocked with 'O' shaped eyes and mouths to match  met the hearing and sight of the emissaries from Imladris, and occasionally an elfling would point rudely and receive a hasty reprimand from a parent or some other adult kinfolk.  Cugu and Toloth grinned broadly, enjoying the joke right along with their hosts, but Erestor was beside himself with absolute mortification.

Here they were, the first elves to visit these lands in over two Ages, representing the Council of the Wise, the Lord of Imladris, and the Lady of the Golden Wood, covered in orc gore, mud, insect bites, and half-naked to top it all.  The noble advisor sent a sharp glance over his shoulder to try and instil some solemnity into his companions, who were smiling, waving, and calling out greetings to everyone, but Cugu just shrugged and Toloth shook his head.   

Erestor glowered.  He could already hear Glorfindel's belly-rolling laughter resounding through the Hall of Fire as this story found its way into the clever clutches of Lindir's mind, emerging as a ballad of comedic legend, patterned after the sort of epic storytelling so frequently demanded from Imladris' citizens; set, no doubt, to the kind of tune that got verily stuck in one's head for days on end.  The type of song elflings ended up singing as they went about their childish games.

Erestor, Cugu, and Toloth went forth to meet the Elven King.  
Oh! Perilous was their journey North, seeking aid to stop the Ring.  
For five days straight the heavens heaved and soaked the trio through,  
What?  I thought there were ten, toloth plus two, travelling beneath the leaves?  
Nay! Toloth, Toloth the Mighty, a warrior bold, with Erestor and faithful Cugu,  
What?  Could they not find an eagle?  What good is a dove on a trip with elves so few?  
Nay! Cugu, Cugu the Brave, a soldier renowned, veteran from battles untold…  

The esteemed advisor's bitterly rambling and silent ode was suddenly ended as a loud clarion of trumpets filled the air and reverberated from the stony walls of the stronghold, for the column of warriors had rounded a wide curve in the path and were within sight of the fortress.

High into the darkening skies soared Orod Im'elaidh [the Mountain Amid the Trees], brother to Orod Ereb [the Lonely Mountain].on the plains of Erebor.  Before the forbidding expanse of onyx stone a wide, deep chasm had been cut by Aulë's hands, then delved and deepened by the Woodland King, diverting the flow of the Forest River to form a moat before the citadel.  The water was motionless and black, but perhaps that was due to the lack of light remaining.  Across the liquid barrier, rumoured to hold enchantment in its inky depths, a tremendous drawbridge spanned the divide.

Another fanfare bugled brightly through the twilight as the royal couples' horses stepped first upon the wooden planks, and a loud welcoming cheer arose from within the confines of the palace on the opposite shore.  Victorious and proud, the hunters were returned.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Beta'd by Sarah AK, remaining errors are mine alone.   _Italics indicate thoughts._

### IV. Amid the Greenwood We Shall Stay

The gloaming was upon them, hovering about in the evening air as light and shadow briefly blended, blurring edges and skewing distance, muting hues and sharpening sounds.

Overhead the branches parted as the road approached the span and the sky was revealed in lavender and gold, painted pale with the remnants of Anor's lingering lumens. The colour dimmed away to smoky grey but it was yet too early to see the brilliant glimmer of Thôr (Vega) soaring high above or the shape of Nahar (Pegasus) galloping through menel's starry meadow.  Erestor glanced up nonetheless, eager to view anything other than brown branches and autumn foliage.

The hunters converged upon the bridge amid the hollow hammer of the horses' hooves ringing out on the wooden planks. With gaited grace they drummed a pace in regimented military tattoo, a stirring cadence of strength and power as the chargers all fell into step. How elegantly curved the equines' necks, so fluidly flounced the silken manes, and each jaunty thud made a fine counterpoint to the warriors' lyrical song.

Behind the stallions the archers marched, proud precision in the subtle thump of their light-footed tread, the noiseless compression underscoring the thrumming percussion that governed their advance.  Just as soundlessly padding across the causeway, the canines flanked each steed in pairs, save for three horses. Two advancing under the banner of the Hawk had no chasers and one representing the House of the Blue Dragon was chaperoned by a single dog.  The conspicuous mounds of cloaked remains draped across their whithers marked the families served by the fallen hounds.

Behind Thranduil and his Queen, the Noldor's war-horses needed no instructions to join in the tempo and match strides with their woodland contemporaries. The Imladrians upon their backs could not help but feel their spines straighten to attention and their heads uplift, wishing more than anything they had carried with them the Swan's Wing standard of Eärendil and were properly garbed as befit representatives of that noble House.

Suddenly a great shuddering whoosh of hot wind raced through the stagnant air and a dazzling flare of white and yellow light flamed up beyond the gates on the opposite shore.  Erestor, Cugu and Toloth gasped in wonder; several immense torches had ignited upon the stone face of the mountain fortress, illuminating the grounds below and the mighty stronghold's impenetrable walls.  In amazement the visitors stared upon a vision the like of which they had never beheld, for into the rock were carved monumental effigies, a trio of such vast scale that they had to crane their necks back to take all of it in.

There were three arched niches worked into the dark dioritic stone with the central one being the largest.  The two on either side held artistically crafted and highly detailed relief images of the Valar: Oromë to the right and Yavanna to the left.  Within the centre niche was depicted no representation of the Powers.  Rather, the alcove held a tremendous rendition of an incense cedar, sixty feet high at least and appearing to be almost completely detached from the wall, so fine was the sculpture.

While this was clearly the tree on the white standard carried by the silvan Queen, the Noldo had no idea what the representation signified.  Its importance was indisputable, however, not only from its prominent location and size but also by the composition of its rendering.  The huge cedar's bark was created by the inset of hundreds upon hundreds of garnet and topaz gems, giving exactly the right tint of ruddy brown seen on such a living redwood's rough skin.  The leaves were comprised of individual jewels of green emerald, jade, and epidote; there must have been thousands of them!  Never had so simple a design been so richly worked.

Even the torches were something unexpected, for they were in actuality a series of six huge lamps set at even intervals in the spaces dividing the statues.  These were not open-flamed brands on pikes of wood or steel, but rather were as flickering fire trapped within transparent globes.

The light of the lamps spilled out from the hollow spheres, washing the entire scene in dancing glimmering gleam almost as if the day was not done.  The vibrant beams twinkled and sparkled amid the gems of the life-sized tree and showed up the Valar in stark contrasts of bright sheen on glossy black. The whole of the mountain's facade seemed almost to be an altar and the atmosphere this display engendered was that of a holy place.  Erestor felt he was about to enter into the sacred halls of a magnificent temple instead of an impregnable fortress.   He turned to share his stunned appreciation with his comrades behind him.

Neither one noticed him; they were gawking open-mouthed at the artistry above them.  In truth, Cugu and Toloth were attempting to decipher the inscriptions winding over the arched alcoves, incised in flowing Sindarin script. Each Power's name was written at their feet, Yavanna and Oromë, while below the tree's roots was written the word 'Tawar'.  Around the goddess' head was a prayer for her protection and thanks for her making of the forest while surrounding the Hunter scrolled a plea for aid and strength.  Above the towering cedar was chiselled a solemn vow.

"Oh Mistress of all that grows and breathes, we offer gratitude for the gifts of the forest.  Watch over our Greenwood and ever let it flourish!" read Cugu aloud.

"Oromë, ever let your horn ring through the trees, lending courage to our hearts and vigour to our arms.  Bless our bows that they may never break and our swords that they remain ever sharp," intoned Toloth with an approving nod.  "That is a good prayer for any warrior," he added.

"We have come into a green world and here shall we abide until the end of days.  Tawar serves us and we serve Tawar," murmured Erestor in perplexed reverence.

Somehow, the oath seemed composed of entirely distinct elements from different Ages that had been glued together only recently.  One was very ancient, specific and simple, calling forth thoughts that had found voice long before the coming of Anor and Ithil while the other had about it the sound of a journey completed after long hardship and great sorrow.  He could imagine that the opening sentence contained Oropher's words as he entered the Greenwood for the first time after the harrowing migration from the destruction of Beleriand.  Elrond's seneschal could not begin to fathom what elf might have initially pronounced the second statement.

The contingent of mounted cavalry, hunting hounds, and foot soldiers halted upon the bridge, for barring the way were two monstrous wrought iron gates of intricate, almost delicate design that belied their unbreakable composition.  The filigreed metal bars were fifty feet tall and filled the width of the bridge from side to side completely.  The doors, set between high battlements built of granitic masonry, were fashioned after the same image found on the beech trees at the city's entrance, and though the barricade must be mobile the guests could not detect any break within the elaborate scrollwork to suggest where the gates were joined.

Upon the wide wall's flat-topped surface were fixed tall lamps of the same type as those illuminating the mountainside.  These revealed twelve archers in uniform befitting the royal guard of a woodland King's House, standing the watch.  They manned their posts upon this rampart in calm attention and awaited their Liege Lord's command before granting entry into the palace beyond.

Or so the Noldor imagined.

Yet, into the expectant silence flowed not the deep tones of the Sinda Lord but the lilting soprano of the silver Queen's melodious voice.  Her words filled the forest as she sang out the simple vow:  
"Buia Tawar men; buiam Tawar." (Tawar serves us; we serve Tawar.)

No sooner had the final syllable sounded than the iron was cast in an ethereal glitter as if starlight and moonlight were adhering to the metal.  Then, without aid of hands or the clanking grind of machinery, the gates parted in the centre and swung outward upon the bridge making not so much as a whisper of sound.  Erestor realised the royal couple had stopped at the perfect spot to allow the barrier to freely turn upon its hinges without need to cause anyone to reverse even one pace.

The King and Queen set forth once more, crossing onto the shore and passing beyond the sturdy walls into the expansive courtyard beyond.  Behind them followed the warriors and as each pair passed through the opening they dipped their standards down and bowed low before the carved figures.  As if constructed from gossamer-light fabric instead of cold, fire-hardened iron, the gates closed without assistance and no clang of clasp or lock resounded when the two halves rejoined as seamlessly as before.

The Noldor guests stayed close to Thranduil and his silver-haired wife, for once within the stronghold the cavalry and archers disbanded, heading off in different directions.  The atmosphere of reverent and ceremonial solemnity vanished amid a chaotic cacophony of chatter, barking, and neighing.  Soon the courtyard was nearly empty, save for a small assembly of elves situated near a huge cavernous archway cut into the mountain at ground level.

Erestor, Toloth, and Cugu dismounted in imitation of their hosts.  Immediately, attendants approached and lead the animals away, taking also the royal standards, which they set into brackets on either side of the open vestibule, the Beech Leaf Flag on the right and the Cedar Tree to the left.  These aids relieved the guests of their packs with promises to place them in their quarters for them.  As soon as the Noldor turned from thanking the elves, they found themselves gazing upon the heathen horde that had encircled them on the path earlier in the morn.  The wild Nandor were not alone.

They were arranged side by side in four sets and it was clear soon enough that there was a hierarchy of importance represented in the sequence.  Before each group, except the one closest to the cavern doorway, a female elf stood, regally dressed in silks and satins, hair braided and coifed in elegant styles, necks and ears bejewelled, hands nearly encased in rings clasped quietly before them.  To the right of each inu was a tall staff bearing the flag of their heritage, and two or more of the aboriginal elves, still garbed in their scandalously meagre clothes and decorated with paint and feathers, shells and bones.  The silver Queen parted from Thranduil and went to the bunch closest to the cavern, taking her place in much the same way as the other females there.

Starting from the outermost group, Thranduil advanced with a stern countenance and frowning brows upon the fey silvans, pacing the length of the line like a captain inspecting his troops.  When he reached the Queen he turned on his heel and proceeded back along the ranks, stopping once more to confront the furthest cluster and the petite inu with them.

This Nandorin elleth had coal black hair and skin so pale it was nearly translucent.  Her lips were dark red and she wore violet robes; her eyes were the most vivid green any of the visitors had ever beheld.  She gaily smiled back at the Sinda Lord as her standard, the Raven in flight upon a field of blue and white, rippled in the breeze above her head.  Next to her and standing one pace back were the two skeletons, Raven Dancer and Orange Clout, and beside them a female elf; she had pasted a scatter of black-dyed feathers, meant to be crows' undoubtedly but more reminiscent of yard fowl, over her body.  The trio did not look very happy as the King came near.

The Raven inu stepped up to meet him and the two kissed sweetly and embraced.

"Beloved, do not be overly harsh; they were misled by the Dragon and the Butterfly, as it always goes!" she cajoled with an endearing smile and a winning little dip of her graceful eyelashes.

A nondescript snort of irate disgust from one of those two accused Houses was ignored.

"Ah, Corchrîn (Crowned Crow), melethrilen, (my love) you know I must not go easy on them in such a case!  Fêrlass (Beech Leaf) and Doronlass (Oak Leaf) must learn to think and act independently!  And they have set a poor example for young Annûnfaen (Radiant Sunset)!"

This intimate exchange was observed with tolerant nonchalance by all except the Noldor guests, they having been under the impression that the silver-haired female was Thranduil's wife.  The Imladrians exchanged confused looks and then returned attention to the group.

The two bone-faced black-haired elves, twin males, glanced first at one another in wordless communication and then at their younger sister, a brunette, and all three emitted heavy sighs as they stepped forward to face their King's ire.

"Forgive or reckless joking, Hîren Adar (my Lord Father)," spoke one contritely.  "I should have resisted the urge to play this prank and as oldest am prepared to accept the punishment for my younger siblings."  This was Fêrlass, but to the Noldor emissaries he would always be Raven Dancer. 

And on hearing that Thranduil was his father, and thus the others' as well, the three visitors were completely flabbergasted and could only stare in wide-eyed fascination as the little drama progressed.

Both of the other Raven elves were objecting.

"Nay, I am as old as you and can bear my own punishment!" This from Doronlass, the second-born of the twins.  "My sincere apologies, Hîren Adar," he added quickly.

"I am not an elfling anymore, Fêrlass!  Look after yourself, for once!" The younger sister sniffed indignantly.  She tossed her head and the beads and shells in the chestnut hair clanked quietly as the braided topknot shook.  "Ada, it was just a joke and oh! It was so very funny!  You would have laughed and laughed!"

Thranduil had a hand to his face, fingers curled around his chin and mouth as he glowered at them, seeming to ponder deeply the offences committed and what an appropriate chastisement might be, but as his eyes met Corchrîn's, he was struggling to subdue a grin and restrain his laughter.

"That is most courteous of you, Fêrlass, yet all of you are old enough to know better. You will each step forward and ask forgiveness from our noble guests," the King at last found enough composure to speak and stood aside as the young elves shuffled hesitantly forward.

"We humbly beg your pardon, Lord Erestor, and yours as well Masters Cugu and Toloth," the twins spoke in unison and bowed simultaneously, but the Imladrians were accustomed to that sort of thing and never blinked an eye.

"Accept my apology as well," offered Annûnfaen politely with a curtsey that looked absolutely ridiculous, considering her costume, yet was thoroughly endearing.  "I am also sorry my whistling arrow frightened your horses."

"Oh, well, the horses will be well enough," said Toloth amiably. "No harm done, I suppose."

The warriors would not normally let it go that easily, for they felt rather foolish to have been taken in, but the situation unfolding was far more interesting than the idea of blame and retribution.

"Aye; it was a good stunt!  Better than anything our lads ever dreamed up!" Cugu winked conspiratorially at Fêrlass.

The oldest twin smiled back.

"For my part, I will be satisfied, provided a suitable means of correction is specified," added Erestor.

"So be it!  The incident will not be held against you in the Realm of Imladris.  Consider yourselves fortunate that you will not be required to answer before Lord Elrond for your errors!" boomed Thranduil's deep voice.

All eleven of the miscreants relaxed at that, for it looked as if the strangers would not exact any retribution on top of that ordered by the King and their Nenith (Mothers).  Erestor wondered briefly what sort of stories these young ones had been told of Elrond to make them so worried of confronting him.

"Scullery," the long index finger of the King's right hand sentenced Fêrlass, who winced.  "Kennels," the fateful pointer moved on to Doronlass, whose shoulders slumped.  "Training grounds," the digit's doom fell on Annûnfaen, who pouted and folded her arms before her chest.

With sighs and groans the Raven children of Corchrîn resumed their places behind their mother and Thranduil moved down to the next group.

This time when the inu stepped forward the two elves barely brushed their left and right cheeks against one another in greeting and remained at arm's distance thereafter.  The air took on that definitive crackley feel as when too much energy accumulates in a storm and the clouds are about to discharge a dangerous bolt.

The proud elven lady was tressed in locks the colour of molten steel and had eyes like shadows dark on leaves of green.  She was dressed as regally as her counterparts yet of the quartet she alone did not appear at ease in the posh apparel.  At her side, strapped right over the finely embroidered silk of her rose coloured gown, was a vicious sword in a scabbard that looked as though it had been through the Last Alliance, which it had.  In fact, so had she.

"Hîren, (my Lord)" spoke the Lady beneath the banner of the Blue Dragon, "it is unfair for Hervess Canthui (Fourth Wife) to blame Glamor (Echo), Galurem (Much Good Fortune) and Nost Amlug Elu (the House of the Pale Blue Dragon) for these errors.  It was boredom that spawned my children's participation in these foolish actions.  Had my son and daughter been allowed on the hunt, they would not have sought to take part in this unworthy endeavour!"

Three sets of Noldor brows shot up upon registering the reference to multiple mates.  Cugu turned to Toloth with scandalised shock and mouthed Fourth Wife? as Toloth shook his head and shrugged.  Erestor discreetly elbowed Cugu as a giggle from the smallest among the assembled elves alerted him that their astonishment had not gone un-noted.  They returned their attention to the scene, for an edgy and shrill sort of bickering was going on between the inu and her grown daughter.

"Naneth, I do not care about the hunt!  I am going to spend my life as a warrior maiden and there will be many such events!"  This was the red-haired female with the elaborate dragon logo on her legs.

"Then why did you go with this pack of delinquents, dragging along your brother?" demanded her mother angrily.  "You have made our House look foolish and trifling!  What would Nana-minui (First-mother, grandmother) say?"

"Ai! She would not care!" rejoined her son, Galurem, also a brunette and one of the anu with pierced nipples.

"Not care?  She was a fearless warrior and brought great honour to our House!  How dare you insult the memory of Nanethen!" (my mother) hissed the warrior in pink satin and would have cuffed Galurem but Thranduil caught her wrist and held it.

Their eyes locked and a bitter contest of wills ensued for several seconds before the King gave a nearly imperceptible sigh, plastered a long-suffering smile onto his face, and let go.  Her hand fell limply to her side and curled up into a fist.

"Huneb'ell, please do not allow their antics to cause you such grief!  I will be certain to punish them for the insult to your House as well as the practical joke upon our distinguished guests.  Will this appease you?  Can you forgive them, Hervess Nelui?" (Third Wife)

Erestor almost choked trying to swallow a shocked gasp and prevent a snicker from finding a way out of his nose as he assimilated this information.  Not only because this female was wife number three but also because her name meant 'Joy Hearted', which clearly she was not.  When the formidable Lady flashed him a searing glare he sobered immediately and no longer wondered at Thranduil's yield during the power struggle moments ago.

"Make your apologies that we may go!  Your punishment shall be of my choosing," she growled to her children through gritted teeth.

"Forgive us our insolent behaviour!" implored Galurem, now quite grim.  "And I will gladly submit to your censure, Lord Erestor!"  Despite his bold demeanour, he much preferred anyone to discipline him other than his Naneth.

"Aye, we meant no dishonour to our Ada's guests," Glamor echoed her brother's dismayed repentance, hoping the endearment would soften her father and cause him to overrule Huneb'ell's decision.

Before the Noldor could reply to the beseeching pleas for redemption, Huneb'ell simply said "The mines" and every one of the collected Wood Elves flinched to hear it.  She marched her disconsolate children out of the courtyard and into the stronghold, sparing a curt nod and a sharp scrutiny of the Noldor as she passed.

The Sinda King sighed wearily and smiled thinly at the visitors as he moved to the next group.

Cugu and Toloth watched with keen interest and almost leaned forward to improve their view.  They glanced discretely at one another.  Definitely material for the Hall of Fire for many years to come, thought Cugu, and could tell by the sparkle in Toloth's eye that he was of like mind.

As for Erestor, he was becoming increasingly overwhelmed with the startling number of revelations this day had produced. He was certainly fascinated and more than a little incredulous, wondering if the King was wont to play such pranks himself, and whether this entire drama was an elaborate hoax.  The noble advisor began a close scrutiny of the fey elves, looking for resemblance to the Sinda Lord.

A female with hair the same shade as walnut shells came to meet Thranduil next and pecked him daintily on the lips with a rather shamefaced smile and a small shrug of her right shoulder.  Her eyes were lively and coloured like the inside of willow trees.  He gown was of midnight blue and had small diamonds scattered about in mimicry of the stars above that were only just beginning to show.  She stood beside the flag of the Butterfly.

"Hernvenen, (my husband) I make no excuses for the behaviour of our younglings.  Well do you know that I disapprove of such actions, yet I am powerless to stop them.  They do not heed me, Hîren; in fact they are less easily moved than a dragon from its hoard!" she said and grinned.

No one missed her uncharitable reference to the now absent House and even the Noldor were having difficulty subduing the smiles that sought to break free upon their faces.

"I do know it, Hervess Tadui (Second Wife)," the King answered.  "We both realise that Lothanor (Sunflower) is a natural leader; however, Huneb'ell's complaint was not unfounded.  Was it, Sell Vinui (First Daughter)?"  So saying he turned to the fair inu in butterfly paint and lifted one appraising brow.

Butterfly Face did not balk at meeting her Adar's stare and moved to the front of her siblings.  
"I will accept the responsibility, Hîren Adar," she said calmly and then turned to the Noldor.  Lothanor bowed before them and smiled when she straightened up.  "It is true; this was my idea.  Please do not hold it against my sisters!  I am grieved that our attempt at amusement has caused you distress."   

"We accept your genuine regret over the incident.  Please, think on it no more!" said Cugu sincerely.

"Aye, no one was in any danger; the distress was insignificant," Toloth agreed.

"Whatever made you choose to do such a thing?" asked Erestor, curious.

"Oh, it was most definitely the mention of slow-witted, xenophobic, backward, ignorant tree rats!"  Lothanor smirked as she spoke and all the wild elves nodded in concurrence.

The guests had enough conscience to look thoroughly guilty and remorseful as they gazed cautiously at the King to see how he might react to this.

"Ah!  You overheard us?" stuttered Erestor.  "Most unfortunate, and how quiet you all are!  Really you must forgive our loose tongues; it was the rain, you see."

To the Imladrians' unbounded relief, the sparkly giggle of youthful laughter met their ears from the same small elf as before, and Thranduil noticed.  He at once broke into a gleeful smile and threw back his head in joyous guffaws of merriment.

"Aye, I am sure the rain is at fault, for you three have shown yourselves worthy in every way!" he said to Erestor and motioned for Lothanor and her sisters to approach him.  "Lothanor, it is the stables for you.  Come here, Brithla (Pearl)," he said to the inu with the huge silver hoop in her nose and drew her forward.  "You, too, Gwirithiel (April's Daughter)," brought the last sister forth.  "Will you let Lothanor take the blame in this?"

"Nay!" burst out Gwirithiel. "I volunteer for the vaults, Ada, as penance for the deed."

"And I will go to aid the scribe, Ada," sighed Brithla with severe disgust.  "We will not do this again!"

"That will suffice.  Would you add anything, Calargyll (Lamp Bearer)?" Thranduil turned to his second wife.  She shook her head and smiled, opening her arms to gather their three offspring back to her side.

Now the King was standing in front of the silver Queen and they clasped hands and shared a long silent moment of eye speak, smiling gently upon one another's souls.  They inhaled and exhaled together and parted.

"What of our sons, Ithilloth (Moonflower)?" asked Thranduil quietly.

Before she could reply, Necklace Male stepped up bravely.

"I am more at fault than the others, Hîren Adar," he said.  "Lothanor would not have proceeded without my agreement and assistance.  Please allow me to act as our guests servant and guide during their stay."

"Well said, Sîrgell (Running River) murmured Ithilloth approvingly.

"Indeed, you represent Adaren's House, Sîrgell," Thranduil's voice was sombrely limned in disappointment.  "Do not forget that among your siblings, you alone do so.  I expect much better from you, especially at your age."

"Forgive me, Adar!" pleaded the heir of Oropher.

"I also regret my part in it.  I am the one who launched the acorn assault," another son stepped forward, brown-haired and doleful.

"Oh ho!  Well now, that was a wicked thing to do!" fussed Toloth.  "What is your name?"

"Do not harm Orgilion! (Star's Day)" the third one placed himself between the two.  "I dared him to, and I am the one that started the laughing game."

"And I suspect you two are the ones who learned of our guests arrival upon the road and neglected to report it," Thranduil interjected.  "You were on patrol together near that area yesterday, Menelfân." (Clouded Sky)

"Aye, you are right, Hîren.  I spotted the tresspa…visitors and led Orgilion back last night to prove it, for he thought I was making it up," Menelfân confessed.

"Then Lothanor concocted this little ruse.  What a fine impression you have all made upon the emissaries from our sundered kin," scolded Ithilloth seriously.  Her voice was calm and her tone was amiable, but that only made her displeasure more palpable, and when she spoke everyone's attention focused upon her.

Each of the fey elves' heads dropped in shame.

"Orgilion, Menelfân; your actions impart a serious debt upon my father's House.  Know you not what an honour it is that he chose you to represent the Hawk?  What will you do to amend your errors?" she continued.

"I will work the docks," offered Orgilion.  "I meant no smear upon the House of the Hawk!"

"Nor did I," said Menelfân.  "And I will tend the armoury."

"So be it," said their mother and inclined her head to the guests.  "I leave you now in the capable care of Sîrgell, my good elves, and bid you fair rest!  We shall meet tomorrow to discuss your proposal, but go now and prepare for the feast."

So saying she stepped away and her younger sons followed, bowing graciously to their father and the Noldor as they passed.  Calargyll followed with her three daughters, and Corchrîn brought up the rear of the procession, her Raven children before her.  They all entered the stronghold and soon departed from sight, leaving Thranduil, Sîrgell, Erestor, Cugu, and Toloth alone in the courtyard.

Almost alone.

Once the rest of the assembly cleared out the source of the sparkling laughter was revealed.  Erestor had noted the small elfling before but had been too intrigued with the King's brood to pay much attention.  The two warriors got there first look at the child and smiled, startled to have missed such a vision.

The little one stood apart next to the banner of the cedar tree and was so small he could not have been above the age of five or six.  His hair was shoulder length and unbound; it shone under the lamplight, shimmering in streaks of gold and mithril that rivalled the radiance of Anor's rays.  His eyes were soft blue clearer than a cloudless sky at noon on the summer solstice and danced with amusement and joy as he looked upon the King. He was wearing loose silk sleeping clothes in pale azure, had no shoes upon his feet, and definitely looked as if he had escaped from the nursery and his bed.

At the child's side sat one of the huge hunting hounds and the elfling was just the right size to drape one arm over the dog's shoulders.  He was absently patting the animal's fur as the other hand resided before his chin, thumb determinedly inserted between the small red lips.  He smiled and the hand came away from his face.

"Ada!" he cried cheerfully and held out both arms.

Thranduil immediately swooped down and caught the child up, hoisting him high over his head and then pulling him in close to his heart, delighting in the shrieks of jubilant excitement that issued from the elfling, sharing laughter with his small son.

"Legolas!" the King spoke.  "You should be sleeping now, pen dithen (little one).  Why are you out here in the courtyard so late?  Did you pretend to be asleep so that Eirien would leave your rooms?"

"Yes, Ada," answered the child matter-of-factly.  "I wanted to see the stranger elves but Eirien said I was too little.  I am not!  I needed to come so someone would be here for Nana's House."

At this Thranduil smiled sadly and gently and kissed his youngest child.  "Aye, you are right.  You are here for the House of Tawar.  Come, then, and greet out guests.

TBC


	5. Not Last Night but the Night Before

Thranduil set the child down on his feet in front of the three Noldor visitors, his long elegant hands firmly upon the elfling's shoulders. The child tilted back his head and the King looked down and the two shared identical smiles of melancholy pride, comparable to the expression the Imladrians had noted earlier on the Sinda ruler's visage.

It made them unaccountably distressed and they checked each other's eyes, confirming all were similarly overwhelmed. A quick glance at the eldest prince revealed dark indigo orbs shining with liquid love and pain for his brother and father.

The King's hands slid off, one to pat the golden head, the other to give an encouraging shove on the princeling's rear end, scooting him a step closer to the waiting visitors.

A brilliant smile of startling beauty and warmth spread across the child's serene countenance as he took another little hop forward on his own. Legolas' hands came up before his chest, palms pressed together, and he made a deep and solemn bow. As he came upright, the hands dipped down and opened to form a cup that he extended forward as his arms straightened.

"Suilad o Noss Tawar! Galu uin Eringalen bo le pân." (Greetings from the House of Tawar! The Blessings of the Greenwood upon you all.) The hands tipped over and separated, limbs sweeping wide as though to envelope all of the forest, gathering within their reach every good thing of Yavanna's design, compelling the entirety of the Realm's benevolence to engulf the guests. "Legolas, hîl o Cúroniel, Tawarwaith, Tirn-en-Tawar, le esta nothrim Tawar a gwedeiren od uir. Le tellin bar." (Legolas, heir of Cúroniel, the Tawarwaith, the Watcher in the Great Wood, names you kindred of the House of Tawar and my brothers for eternity. You have come home.)

Erestor was speechless upon receiving this welcome from the King's youngest son and had absolutely no doubt that a powerfully protective benediction had indeed just been spilled over them. He had been prepared to be charmed by the precocious little prince's cute mimicry of diplomacy and courtly conduct, but instead found himself awed, stunned by a sense of being near to something exquisitely unique, indomitable and hallowed. He dropped to one knee in front of the child and extended a hand, gazing into the clear steady cornflower blue eyes to view a soul unguarded, staggered by the combination of kindness and sadness, innocence and wisdom revealed.

"Legolas, Ernil-en-Eringalen, le hannam an lín ant fael o gwend ar galu haill. Mae govannen, gwador!" (Legolas, Prince of the Greenwood, we thank you for your generous gift of friendship and exalted blessings. Well-met, kinsman!), the noble statesman said as the elfling placed small, delicate fingers upon his palm.

{Slender, sticky fingers. Slender, sticky, fuzzy fingers!} Elrond's advisor realised the little one's thumb-sucking hand, well covered with the hunting dog's shedding hair, was the one in his grip. The sensation of fur-coated, saliva-gummed digits pressed against his skin shattered the ethereal quality of the scene. With a half-grin, half-grimace he relinquished his grasp and stood tall again.

"You offer me a high honour, young prince!" exclaimed Toloth as he moved forward and bowed low, hand over heart. "It is doubly great, for I knew your Miny'Adar (Grandfather) and fought beside him long ago."

"As for me, I am quite pleased to be your kinsman," Cugu put in his thoughts, reaching out to the elfling. When Legolas stretched his hand up to meet the Noldo's, the warrior instead gripped the child's forearm and helped him do the same, a traditional gesture of comradeship among fighters. "For all my relatives have gone West and I am not ready to join them. It will be good to be part of a family again."

"Hannad, Cugu Beren," (Brave Dove) Legolas giggled, transferring his attention to the King to be sure he had noticed the warrior's salutation.

Thranduil was absolutely bursting with paternal pride and love as he gazed down on the elfling, who looked back with adoring expectation. The King's hands returned to the elfling's shoulders and squeezed.

"Well done, Legolas, Nana would be very happy!" he said. "You have honoured Greenwood by greeting our visitors splendidly, so much better than your older siblings! I am thoroughly pleased and impressed!"

"As am I, Tiuw! (Sprout)," added Sîrgell as he reached out and patted his baby brother's head affectionately.

"Hannad, Ada, Sîr! Does that mean I am forgiven for misleading Eirien and leaving my rooms?" the child asked and slipped the spittle-covered thumb back between his lips.

This hopeful entreaty raised a round of smiling chuckles among the grown-ups and a shake of Thranduil's head. He reached down and hefted the elfling high; settling Legolas easily onto his right shoulder in a move that bespoke veritable centuries of practise with his numerous children.

"Oh, from me you have nothing to fear. Eirien, however, does not like to be fooled. You will have to tell her and take your punishment, Legolas. If something had happened to you, I would hold her accountable. She takes that very seriously."

"Aye, and she loves you besides," added Sîrgell. "You should have thought about the consequences before you sneaked out."

The four veterans of the Last Alliance could not help but turn incredulous expressions upon Necklace Male, hapless leader of the aboriginal Avari, for such chastening, and the youth shrugged sheepishly and cleared his throat. Before Thranduil could utter any correction to his son, a single, deep, short 'woof!' that died away into a grumbling growl of disapproval issued from the great hound's throat. The dog was still in the same spot by the cavern archway, her shaggy grey head attentively turned toward the oldest prince. She rose and hobbled over to the King's side, her long tail making a slow sweep back and forth through the air as her wise appraising black eyes stared accusingly at Sîrgell.

The hounds of the Woodland Realm were all the colour of shadows cast by moonlight, subtle grey-shaded silver, and stood at least a metre and a half from ground to shoulders on long strong legs. The canines were easily the size of wargs but refined in line and conformation. Their keen senses of smell and hearing rivalled their elven masters, and they would run days on end in pursuit of their quarry. Their coats were medium in length and wiry, forming brushy whiskers at the muzzle and feathers at their fetlocks. The ears were short and folded over in half, perched above dark eyes displaying loyalty and intelligence within their depths. These were chasers, bred for hunting dire wolves in Ages past but now employed as indispensable components of the King's forces.

This one was typical of the breed except that she had only three legs. It was not too difficult for the Imladrians to imagine what had happened to her left back limb, considering the battle they had participated in earlier.

"All right, I am hardly one to speak up about foresight and prudent consideration before acting," Sîrgell laughed and bent to pat the dog's head contritely, tugging off the ridiculous necklace as he did so. "I will intercede with Eirien on the Tawarwaith's behalf, Dae Dínen (Silent Shadow)."

"Hannad, Sîr!" called the little one and then he leaned down toward the hound and whispered, "Hannad, Dae!"

More light laughter followed this as the hound gave her young master a joyous bark and opened her jaws in a contented grin of teeth blanketed with a lolling red tongue.

"Well that is a fine companion you have there, Prince Legolas," remarked Toloth as he bent and called to the dog to come get acquainted. She ambled over and licked his proffered hand speculatively, another sonorous vocalisation signalling her endorsement of the stranger. "But she is not very silent!"

"She is greeting guests, Toloth," admonished Cugu and joined his mate in patting the hound's noble head, scratching behind her ears. This met with Dae Dínen's approval and she sighed happily.

"Dae likes you," Legolas confided to the warriors as he appraised them with interest. "How come Sîr let you three play and not me?" His tone was just a bit petulant as he shot his oldest brother a hurt look.

"Legolas, our guests were not playing," said Thranduil. "Sîr and the others were misleading them. That is why they have been disciplined and have extra chores to complete."

"But they are dressed up like Avari, too!" Legolas argued, pointing at the Noldor's state of dishabille. "Are you going to give them a punishment?" 

Sîrgell snickered at that and then caught his father's glare and stifled his amusement quickly.

"Nay, little prince," answered Cugu. "We were caught in the rain and our garments are soaked through. That is why we took some off."

"Why were you out in the rain?"

"We had to travel on horse to get here, Legolas," replied Erestor. "It is a long way to Lothlorien and even further to Imladris."

"Aye, and for the last five days and nights rain has positively poured from menel!" asserted Toloth.

"And you got dirty in the hunt? Did you kill many Orcs? I am going to kill every Orc in my forest when I grow up."

"I hope there will not be any left to dispose of when you reach maturity, Legolas," said Cugu with feeling.

"We killed all we could reach, Ernil-ben (little Prince), and do not mind that sort of grime," added Toloth emphatically. 

"Speaking of which, I am sure you would all appreciate the opportunity to bathe and don clean, dry clothing," the King intervened before his youngest could start up again, for once the questions began he knew they would not wind down for several minutes. "Sîrgell, please attend the visitors."

"Yes, Hîren Adar."

"Lord Erestor, Masters Cugu and Toloth, please be at home! If there is anything you require, Sîrgell will see it provided. He will escort you to the feast later this eve. Now, I must smuggle this elfling back into his bed before his nanny finds out he is missing and raises the alarm," Thranduil stated and turned to go.

"Oh, Ada! I want to go to the feast, too!" the young one exclaimed as they walked beneath the open arches.

"Nay, you have had enough excitement, Legolas, and you require rest now."

"Ai! Ada, I am not sleepy at all. Please may I join the feast? I am a big elf, not a baby any more."

"Nay, you have not slept one bit this night and I know you did not rest after the noon meal. Now you must catch up on all the repose missed."

"I will sleep some now and then wake up and go to the feast. May I do that, Ada?"

"Legolas, you are going to sleep through the night this time. There will be many more feasts."

The Noldor and the Sinda prince watched the pair retreat inside the stronghold, smiling at the mild argument as the elfling tried to cajole his father into relenting. Erestor laughed and shook his head, remembering when Arwen would try those pleading tones with Elrond, wondering if this young one would get his way. The seneschal had so many questions he knew not where to start, and as he was pondering this Toloth took the initiative and expressed that which was foremost upon their minds.

"How long has it been that your little brother's Naneth died?"

"Only two years. In fact this is the anniversary of that dread day and thus was the hunt called forth. Legolas suffers greatly. Rarely does he rest well, for through the waking time he tries to be brave and uphold the dignity of the House he now leads, as soon as reverie claims him he wakes in tears and despair. He could not understand where she had gone or why she would desert him."

"Ai, what a sad fate! Of course he has never seen death and thinks she left him," Cugu was aggrieved to think the golden elfling had been subjected to such misery. "How old is the young one? He seems no more than five."

"He is," confirmed the prince. "Unfortunately that is exactly the case. He knows Cúroniel was amongst the patrols near the Northern Borders, bestowing the grace of Tawar upon the warriors, even as she would do every other cycle of Ithil," replied Sîrgell sadly. "It was a special day, for it was anniversary of Menelfân's promotion to captaincy. This does nothing to dispel the belief that he displeased her somehow and she has gone from him. Hîren Adar could not bear to take the little one to see her body, though the healers advised it was necessary, and Legolas could not comprehend that the funeral was for his Naneth as well as the fallen warriors."

"What happened, then, if she was among the King's soldiers?" Toloth said.

"Toloth!" exclaimed Erestor in shamed remonstrance, for these words sounded like an accusation to his ears and he feared to offend Thranduil's heir. "Mind how you speak!"

The worthy veteran dropped his head in remorse and murmured a plea for forgiveness, but Sîrgell set him at ease.

"Nay, no insult was meant nor heard, mellon. It is true, what you say, and something many have questioned. Usually the northern borders are quiet and trouble seeks us from the south or east. My Adar has surmised that the foul creatures originated in the Misty Mountains, travelling through some underground caves or by mountain passes of which we know not.

"In any case, the survivors declared that the attack came from the river and the Orcs seemed cognisant of the Tawarwaith's presence in the region. She was their target, as it turned out. Our scouts and watches gave warning, but the size of the enemy's forces was too great to repel and they were moving as quickly as our soldiers, thanks to the boats and their strong rowers. 

"Little by little, the warriors worked their way toward the stronghold, desperately trying to shield Cúroniel from harm. But she was bold as any Tawarwaith before her and young among our people. Sometimes the combination of such elements yields tragic results. She took the bow of a fallen cousin and climbed into the trees, shooting down the vile servants of Darkness.

"Alas, then the remaining warriors had to rally round her, for they could not disobey her orders! There were too many demons and even had they been fewer, still were our troops doomed that day, for the Orcs were captained by one of the dread Wraiths. It was that hideous remnant of Numenor that stole Cúroniel from us. A long lance he held, and the Tawarwaith's attention was fixed on the Orcs surrounding the trees. She fell, pierced through the heart, into their filthy claws.

"But for Menelfân's impulsive boldness, her body would no doubt have been mutilated disgracefully. He darted right into the horde to her side, Dae upon his flank, and then in frenzy did our forces struggle to rescue him. If the hound had not been there, he would have perished at Curóniel's side for certain. That is the day Dae Dínen lost her leg, placing her body between an Orc blade and my brother's neck. Dae is thus revered among our family, as you may imagine, and she has been at Legolas' side ever since her recovery."

Sîrgell had to stop, for he was overcome with sorrow and wept openly for his little brother's misfortune and the loss of Cúroniel.

The Noldor bowed their heads discretely and Erestor gently smoothed his hand against the younger elf's back. The comfort of this touch eased the prince and he regained his composure.

"Forgive me, but she was loved by all and Legolas is a joy, as you have seen, and it is so wrong for tragedy to have found him," he said. "And Menefân blames himself, though there is nothing he could have done differently. That is another reason I agreed to this silly game, for this day is hard for him also."

The visitors expressed their agreement with these sentiments in silent nods of their grim countenances. They could guess how it ended, for with the goal achieved the cowardly spawn of Melkor's putrid cruelty would flee rather than risk their lives further.

"Yet Legolas seemed well today, though none could miss the note of sorrow tingeing his every word. Has he come to some awareness of the reality?" wondered Cugu aloud.

"I cannot say with certainty what is in his mind," Sîrgell shook his head and shifted in discomfort. "And we all try very hard to just let him be happy now that he is able to manage it. It is only six months since he started to speak again, for he was nearly lost to us through his grief. None can bear to ask him for an explanation; we fear he will succumb to sorrow anew."

"Aye, that is best," remarked Toloth. It was clear to him their questions had encroached on ground the young warrior was unwilling to cross. "It is too soon. It was longer than ten years before I could talk of my brother's demise during the destruction of Eregion."

"Indeed. It is remarkable that he has endured; he must be strong of heart," added Erestor. "But, if I may enquire, what does it mean when you speak of 'the Tawarwaith'? I had thought this only another way of describing the Nandor."

"You are right, but it is much more," Sîrgell began, relieved at the change of topic, but then paused as he pondered how to answer. "Tawar is the soul of our people, and we are linked with our forest; our fates bound together as it were." He stopped again, searching their attentive faces as he sought for a way to help them see. A frustrated sigh escaped him. "It is difficult to explain to outlanders. I know not enough of your people to say what this thing is like in your terms!"

"That is alright, Sîrgell; it is enough if you can tell what it means among the Nandor," encouraged Erestor with a kindly smile.

The prince gave a nod and began again.

"From the First Days, some among us have always been more sensitive to the voice of the Spirit of the Great Wood. We believe it is a gift of Yavanna. The descendants of these folk belong to the House of Tawar for such reason, yet even among this lineage there is but one named the Tawarwaith. The designation is given at birth, for a distinct mark upon the body is always present."

"And Legolas bears this sign?" inquired Toloth.

"Yes, and it is unprecedented for a male. Always has the Tawarwaith been female, and so the Woodland folk rightly hold Legolas as somewhat strange. Yet, all love him dearly and hope his arrival is a good omen that the Shadow plaguing our home will be driven out when he reaches his majority."

"That is a heavy responsibility for one so young to carry," Toloth did not approve. No single elf could remove the blight of Dol Guldur when wizards and the mightiest among elf-kind had failed.

"Yet Adar feels this is what saved him," rejoined Sîrgell, "and my Naneth concurs. Ithilloth is also of the House of Tawar and Cúroniel was her younger sister."

Once more the Noldor were caught off guard by the unorthodox customs of these silvan elves and found their thoughts scrambled as they contemplated Sîrgell's convoluted relationship to Legolas.

"Valar! You are both his brother and his cousin?" Cugu blurted out, too confused to care about propriety. His mate elbowed him sharply and Erestor groaned.

"Sort of," the prince laughed but wrinkled up his nose in distaste. "I regard him only as my baby brother, though. Cousins here often bond!"

The three visitors just stared at him, bug-eyed and speechless for perhaps the sixth or seventh time, uncertain which; having lost count after Thranduil's polygamy had been disclosed.

"Then Legolas understands fully his duty as your peoples' spiritual leader?" Erestor at last found his tongue and turned the topic back to the elfling's destiny.

"Undoubtedly. Personally, I think Tawar has instructed the child regarding Curóniel's death, for how would Legolas make peace with what has happened otherwise? As cruel as I may deem it, I believe these dreams he suffers are visions of his Naneth's end, and he has let slip a word or two that upholds that theory. Legolas' title is not honorary; he is the Tawarwaith. You cannot deny you felt it in his words of blessing."

"That I did," averred Cugu. "If it is this Tawar that turned him away from Mandos, then I am glad for it. That is as delightful an elfling as I have ever met! I do not wonder his people adore him."

"Aye, he did not seem overly sombre for all his exalted titles and catastrophic loss. Quite reminded me of Elrond's youngest when she was around that age. Oh, she had everyone answering to her beck and call; none could deny her!" Erestor chortled, remembering Arwen dancing with her father at the winter solstice until the stars were washed from the sky by the blush of dawn, so small he had to hold her to his chest, feet high above the ground, as they whirled across the Hall of Fire.

"Aye, rest assured Legolas will be at the feast, sitting on Adar's lap no less," said Sîrgell, grinning to see the advisor's wistful expression. "Come inside, I will lead you to your rooms and direct you to the baths. I must get cleaned up as well and then I shall take you on a tour, unless you are tired?"

"Nay, we would welcome the opportunity to see this fortress, your Highness," spoke Toloth. But Sîrgell's words regarding Tawar had disturbed him. He had no use for a Spirit that would teach an innocent of heartbreak and despair such that it nearly caused Legolas' death. These reflections he kept private, however, having already earned his Lord's annoyed displeasure for his unguarded tongue. 

"Please, none of us use titles, except the wives and for them it is necessary," Sîrgell replied and led the way within the stronghold's main hall.

TBC


	6. Came Three Elves Knocking at My Front Door

Now the Noldor dearly wished to find out why the four wives were the only ones among the royal household required to answer to their titles, but politely kept silence as they followed Thranduil's heir inside the mountain stronghold. Besides, the guests had already learned so much that it was questionable if they could really encompass more. The day's instruction had been crammed with startling information. Among the items on the list were the deadly resolve and fierce prowess of the woodland warriors, the inclusion of females among the fighters, the disarming warmth of the Sinda King and his silver-haired Queen, and her bedazzling command of magical power.

These were nothing compared to the shock of meeting Thranduil's multiple mates (Perhaps they are all queens and take it in turns to lead these people) and their astounding number of offspring (Twelve!).

Most upsetting was the explanation for the distinct sense of mourning that clung to Thranduil, even when his face was wreathed in merriment, and the Greenwood's youngest prince. Sîrgell's recount of the family's tragedy had quite drained the Noldor and they were more than ready for rest and relaxation.

No sooner had they crossed the threshold of the open arch than a palpable aura of quiescent peace enveloped them. The huge space was deserted yet held a vital quality of presence that settled around the elves, instilling a desire to enter yet remain inconspicuous lest the solitude be disturbed. The atmosphere in this great chamber inspired reverent awe and the Noldor at once recalled the sense of entering a temple or a shrine, for the mood was enhanced in this place.

The cavern extended at least twenty metres into the mountain and was probably closer to thirty metres in breadth. The air within was cool and sweet with the scent of aromatic cedar wood incense, softly aglow from the diffusive luminance of what seemed a hundred lanterns either standing upright upon the floor or set within brackets in the walls and columns. There were two rows of pillars totalling twenty-four in all, that divided the room in unequal thirds, the central section far larger than the two wings. The supports, each a metre's diameter, looked to have been delved from solid stone, which they were, and thus Erestor surmised the chamber had been opened wider during its creation. Each of the obelisks was decorated with intricate carvings from top to bottom.

Beyond these columns, archways, some brilliantly lighted while others were obscured in impenetrable ebony, broke the continuity of the chamber's walls. The portals were bordered with exquisite patterns of vines and flowers, birds and insects, all worked in delicately painted relief. At either side of the main area, between the first and second pillars, a wood stairway ascended in gracefully curved contours to a circular gallery above that wrapped all the way round the perimeter of the chamber. The twisting banisters were made in the form of a trailing vine of Morning Glories, complete with large trumpet shaped blossoms, and painted such that they looked alive. More doorways could be observed leading off from the wood-railed balcony. 

The curling steps did not go beyond the second level, for the ceiling of the room was of such height that it should have been impossible to tell where it terminated. As it was, the roof of the vaulted space was lit with a series of small lamps that drew attention upward. Cugu gasped, Toloth breathed the name of Varda, and Erestor stared in silent wonderment as all three ceased motion to admire the sight. The rock above was formed from the deposit of an ancient lava flow and the vesicular, black basalt was dotted with gleaming crystals that winked and twinkled in silver and white like the stars of the heavens.

Now the pattern of the gems was not a random scattering as would be worked by nature through untold aeons. True, thus had the clear calcite grown as water carried the minerals through the pores of the surrounding rock. Yet it was not until Oropher's time that this specific arrangement of stones had been worked. The Sinda King was not born before the creation of Ithil and Anor, but within the Greenwood were many elves that had first seen the gifts of Varda at Cuiviénen. From these edhel their new King had gained a detailed map of all the stars visible then, and had set his craftsmen to work recreating this view by painstaking removal and relocation of hundreds of the translucent gems. And though few beyond the bounds of Thranduil's family would understand it, this room and its star-encrusted ceiling best represented Oropher's desire to return to the original design of Iluvatar for the First-born.

Sîrgell paused proudly, smiling to see the amazement wrought upon his charges' features, as they remained rapt in contemplation of the upper reaches of the hall.

"This we call the Chamber of Starlight for obvious reasons. What you behold is menel as it truly is, beyond the bold glare of Anor that hides many of the Star-kindler's gifts from sight, even on Ithil 'wain (New Moon)," he said softly and his words echoed melodically against the distant walls.

"Why this is astonishing!" whispered Toloth.

"You say there are stars we cannot see?" Cugu's equally hushed voice rejoined.

"Aye, I have heard this spoken of from Cirdan at Mithlond," Erestor was nodding as he returned his scrutiny to their guide. "Yet not even he has spoken of the beauty hidden here among your green trees. I dare say no one among the western realms of elf-kind would guess such a magnificent display exists."

"That is sad news," Sîrgell said. "For in days of old, I understood that the Galadhrim kept regular ambassadors and emissaries here, as did we among their councils beneath the Mellyrn. Have all forgotten the Nandor?"

"Nay, not so! Celeborn himself recommended this journey, saying your people had too long been isolated and withdrawn from the west. Still, much mystery shrouds the Wood Elves now," Erestor answered as diplomatically as possible. It would not do to state publicly the derision he often heard in voices discussing the folk of the forest. Aye, even my own words belittled them just hours ago.

"Since we must pass through here to reach your quarters, perhaps I should take you around the rest of the hall," Sîrgell said and began moving forward again. He veered to the right and the elves crossed diagonally through the centre of the chamber. The Wood Elf prince's feet were bare and made no sound as he advanced, but the Noldor wore their hard-soled boots and the noisy clopping of three pairs of heels striking the ground reverberated harshly.

Toloth looked down at his feet in dismay and immediately halted, startled, as he gazed upon the floor. He had been so struck by the lighted roof that he had taken no note of the beauty under his very toes.

"Look!" he called out, reaching to tug on Cugu's arm before he got too far away. His mate turned, sought the source of the warrior's attention, and gasped anew.

The chamber's floor was set with mosaics and in the area closer to the open archway all the tiles were tinted the colour of spring grass. In the centre, however, a great circle was inlaid with an intricate motif unlike anything the Noldor had observed. The design spanned a diameter of two metres and was divided into thirds. The scene shown by the tiles represented the Making of Iluvatar and depicted Arda as a sphere of green and blue and white. Within the globe, all of Yavanna and Aulë's work was represented as well as those of Manwë and Ulmo, spiralling outward from a common focal point. This nexus of the three divine elements, earth, water, and air, was the great tree symbol already so prominently displayed elsewhere.

"What is this place?" queried Cugu in deferential decibels, more than ever believing he was standing in a sanctuary.

"This is our Council Chamber," Sîrgell explained. "In days of old, all business of the Realm would be addressed here, including trade agreements and treaties of alliance. Within the sections would preside the Councillors of Presence for the meeting. In the centre would be Tirn-en-Tawar or sometimes the King, and petitioners would stand outside the circle. Council lasts from Minuial to Tinnu. In these times, it is used more for contemplation and reflection, a place to hear the voice of Tawar and add to the Music. Many celebrations and ceremonies are held here." 

"Will tonight's feasting occur herein?" asked Toloth. He found it hard to imagine this quiet and sombre space filled with elves making merry with song and dance. Yet he had to smile as the young prince laughed at his disapproving tones.

"Do not be troubled, mellon! The Music has many melodies and not all of them are so filled with majesty or doom. Among the Wood Elves, balance is a constant endeavour."

"You speak of the tension betwixt sorrow and joy," Cugu nodded sagely.

"Ah, here is a difference among our kind and the Noldor. It is not a paired conjunction of gladness and fear that we maintain, but a triad. All things come in threes," said the King's son as though this was the only explanation required.

"How so?" Erestor could not help inquiring for he was intrigued. "I see only couples, whether of opposing or convergent purpose. For example, Ithil is for night and Anor for day, living opposed to dying, reverie and wakeful attention, peace or strife. Even in the case of elves, one finds pairs brought together for the raising of offspring or the betterment of Arda through combined action."

"Yes, you have got part of it." Sîrgell responded. "There is a third element in each of the duets you have named. Along with Anor and Ithil are the stars, and the three work together to limit darkness. There is life and death but immortality also, for Iluvatar has given Arda beings long-lived, as our forest, things short-lived, as the creatures that do not speak, and people eternal, which are the edhel.

"Amid the dreaming of reverie there is conscious thought while within the activity of wakefulness there is stillness of the mind, and that is the third element of being. When two are joined in one life to share in the Making, a third entity is thus created, which is the bonded pair. Yet still the two remain as they were and can act independently one from another, while as a couple their deeds share common goals," the prince paused and glanced away into the heights as a soft blush ran up into his ears. "And in Greenwood, there are sometimes tri-bonds as well."

The Noldor's dry expressions denoted their acceptance of this fact, having just seen the young elf's father greet no less than four wives while clearly grieving for the fifth. 

"As for peace and strife," their guide continued, "we count them one and the same thing, for never has there been a moment when the Wood Elves did not struggle nor a time when we have been defeated. Thus are the triple elements of immortality described."

"What are the three elements of being?" asked Cugu, amazed to find himself speaking with this youth barely past his majority, asking questions of him that Celeborn might falter to answer.

"Dream, Action and Stillness."

"And of immortality?" queried Erestor.

"Peace, Strife, Endurance."

The elves were quiet then as the Noldor considered the wisdom of these words and found much truth in the philosophy the silvan folk espoused. All of the Noldor felt chagrined to realise how little credit was given to these simple people and were ashamed to have thought of Wood Elves as backward and primitive. The words of Sîrgell did not describe a people lacking in insight and intellect, but rather of employing these gifts differently than the Noldor or Vanyar might.

Others among elf-kind pursued crafts, built great cities and palaces, worked metal and jewels, studied to understand the mechanisms governing the processes of Arda's many systems. While Calaquendi remained apart from the rest of Iluvatar's creations, regarding themselves higher and more cherished of the Valar and of Eru, the moriquendi considered themselves intricately connected to everything within the Music whether great or small, eternal or fleeting. The Wood Elves celebrated and nurtured life, participated in the Making, fought Darkness and evil, composed songs and sang them, adapted and endured.

"I wish to learn more of this while I am here," said Cugu at last.

"Then it shall be done! There is much to be gleaned within this room of our culture. Come and see, this is what I intended to show you," answered the prince and strode over to one of the foremost pillars. "Here is captured the history of the Nandor and the Sindar. All you may wish to know is documented."

The Noldor had already noticed the carvings on the stone columns and now they advanced to Sîrgell's side to get a closer view. From the ground to waist level, an elaborate rendition of the forest filled the space. The relief was very detailed and wrapped entirely around the solid supports and was capped by a broad border of interlocking geometric shapes that resembled birds in flight. Above this and to just two hand's width above eye level, the sculpting showed various events in the long history of the silvan elves beneath the trees, all the way back to the founding of the realm at the time of the Great Journey and the origins of the Nandor. Another border broke the space from the remaining stone, and the top portions were decorated with all the emblems for the various Houses residing beneath the forest's canopy.

Fascinated, Erestor moved slowly from column to column, studying the sculptures. There were many examples of everyday activities among the trees. Elves hunting, harvesting the fruits of the forest, and singing and celebrating together adorned many of the columns. Peace. Yet there were also images of heroic and legendary feats, from individual encounters with Oromë and battles against Orcs to the bloodbath of the Last Alliance. Strife. 

The likenesses of the elves were carefully and realistically rendered so that as the Noldor moved from one pillar to the next the same people could be recognised in different events across untold hundreds of years. Indeed, Erestor was certain the attendant who had taken his pack was the same elf shown aiding the wounded at Dagorlad and walking hand-in-hand with his mate under the starlit sky of Cuiviénen. Endurance.

"Oh!" the dignified advisor called out spontaneously as he stopped before this final column. It showed the crushing massacre of the Nandor at the Last Alliance, and every elf present that day was visually represented. Oropher and his sons were easily recognisable, yet there were two warriors so different from the others that their participation was more pronounced than even the King. These two were clearly not silvan and were identical in face and form to one another. Twins were a rarity among the various realms of elves, and among the Noldor were only known within the line of Eärendil.

But that was not why the advisor to the Lord of Imladris was so excited. His interest was sparked by the remarkable likeness these sculptures bore to the famed sons of Elrond. 

"Who are these elves?" demanded Erestor, pointing in brisk impatience at the carving as Sîrgell approached.

"Ah!" the prince smiled and nodded. "The Founders of the House of the Raven are shown here."

"These are surely Noldor elves," protested the worthy kinsman of Elrond.

"Nay, not so! These are Sindarin princes, the twins of Dior, Eluréd and Elurín, rescued from the slaughter of the Second Kinslaying. Among us, they bore other names and were adopted by the folk of the Fox. When they reached their majority, they petitioned the Council to found a new House in honour of their lineage, and this was granted. Their House is great now and among their descendants are my twin brothers and their sister. Every other generation, the Raven House fledges twins, always male."

The three visitors stood huddled around the images, wordlessly assimilating all they had just heard. None had ever known the fate of the sons of Dior and among the descendants of Elwing it was a tragedy never discussed without a sorrowful dirge of remembrance for the dread doom that befell those innocents at the hands of the sons of Feänaro. To hear this tale revealed and find no less than the uncles of Elrond was astounding.

"Valar! This is wondrous news! Long has the story of these brothers been hidden from us! An ancient wound in the soul of our Lord will be healed upon our return to Imladris!" Erestor exclaimed as a huge grin adorned his features. "Will they be at the feast tonight?"

"Truly, we shall have to hold our own festival and rejoice for their discovery," Toloth said.

"Yet how could we miss them at Dagorlad?" wondered Cugu.

"That is because they did not fight side by side, but rather among the relatives of their bonded mates. Thus one without the other would hardly draw the eye. They are rendered together here for the purpose of economy. We are running out of rock!" replied Sîrgell but the expression on his countenance described more than dismay for the lack of additional surface area to decorate. He sighed.

"I despise being the one to dispel your gladness. Alas, both were among the casualties of the Last Alliance. Bravely did they fight and their fierceness spared many of their kinfolk from death. The sons of Dior are among the most respected within our Realm, and were friends with Adar for all his life. Indeed, Corchrîn, beloved of Thranduil, is the granddaughter of Elurín," he concluded sombrely.

The Noldo statesman looked bereft and bewildered and crestfallen, stupefied and dumbstruck, cheated and hurt, wounded in heart and soul as he stared at the forest prince.

"Ah, to have found them only to lose them the next instant! This is a hard revelation Sîrgell," mourned Erestor.

Cugu and Toloth had no words to speak; feeling it would be presumptuous to intrude upon the sorrow of Elrond's kinsman, and kin to the lost princes also. They bowed their heads, murmuring quick prayers for a speedy return from Mandos, for what more could they do?

"I grieve for your loss, and for that of all the sundered kin of Eluréd and Elurín," intoned Sîrgell respectfully.

Erestor heaved a heavy breath and released it noisily against the solitude of the Chamber of Starlight. The echo of this lamenting sigh returned to them, however, lighter in tone and sounding more like a breeze caressing a grove of trees laden with summer's fruit. At least their fate is known, and it was a good one after all.

"I thank you, Sîrgell, both for your commiseration and for the news, solemn though it is. I am glad to have the truth, and indeed that was far better than the doom we have assumed befell them all those centuries ago. The House of Eärendil is indebted to the silvan elves. Yet in all the Ages since their rescue, why did they never send word to their sister's people?" asked Erestor.

Sîrgell's countenance blanched noticeably and he pursed his lips together in a grim line. Ai! Nana had foresight to sanction this punishment! This is more difficult than facing the mines would ever be!

"Again it falls to me to bring upon you greater sorrow, and to reveal a failing among our people. I am not pleased to speak of this prejudice, yet honour compels me to do so. Please recall the context in which the young princes were abandoned.

"The sons of Feänaro wrought the murder of the elflings' parents before their very eyes. The servants of Celegorm cruelly deserted them in the wilds near the River Aros. The Laiquendi took them in, for it was known the surviving Noldor princes sought for the twins, hoping to destroy entirely the heritage of the last King of Doriath. They were brought over the mountains and across the wide plains of Arnor and Eriador to be harboured amidst the Nandor. The secret of their survival was well guarded for fear of reprisals and war with Maedhros and Maglor. Then, Beleriand was washed away, and it was believed Elwing was lost also.

"The twins grew and accepted that they were the last of their folk, living as Nandor from then on. When word later came of Elwing's destiny and the final disposition of the Silmarils, it seemed a strange choice to Dior's heirs for both Eärendil and Elwing to abandon their twin sons. The fostering and alliance of Elrond and Elros to the House of Maglor, by virtue of their father's Noldo heritage through Idril, brought Eluréd and Elurín near to despair, feeling their heritage was corrupted, that these blood-kin nephews had become the sons-by-adoption to the murderers of Dior and Nimloth.

"Forgive me my words, Lord Erestor. To them this seemed a great evil, for the King and Queen of Doriath were no less than the grandparents of Elrond and Elros. To pardon the perpetrators of their destruction was bad enough, but to embrace the kinslayers and ally with their House, this was unforgivable. The Raven Founders had no wish to meet such elves," Sîrgell completed this narration with head bowed low and eyes downcast, dreading what response this would provoke within the noble from Imladris.

For long moments Erestor considered these words in morose silence. The young Sinda prince had succinctly recounted the sins that had divided the races of the Teleri from their Noldo counterparts. Truly, from the perspective presented, the actions of Elwing and Eärendil, Elrond and Elros must seem strange and twisted. Here is shown the worst of Melkor's deeds.

But Erestor was not bitter, for he had needed to come to terms with this dark portion of his people's history long ago. He attributed the destructive divisiveness to its Dark source, and could not hold the innocent uncles of his Lord accountable for any wrong. Nor would he find fault with the good folk that had seen fit to safeguard and nurture those lost elflings. He nodded once and reached over to softly pat Sîrgell's arm.

"No forgiveness is required, not from me nor any of my kin. The House of Eärendil is still indebted to the Nandor. And there is cause for sorrow, but more reason for rejoicing. Have you not just informed me that I will meet many cousins, nephews, and nieces beneath these trees? Indeed, I will be pleased to report this good fortune to my Lord, and this will only work to bridge the chasm between our people."

His kind and encouraging words brought Sîrgell's eyes from the ground, and the prince found in Erestor's no enmity or rancour. He smiled and breathed easier.

"Thank Elbereth! I feared to be the cause of this diplomacy to fail before it could even be enjoined," he said with relief upon his lilting tones.

"Please tell us what names they were known by among the Wood Elves?" queried Erestor, for he was curious to have all the details of the lost brothers. 

"Many designations they bore, and never was their true heritage hidden either, so that the Sindarin titles voiced amid the caverns of Nargothrond were sometimes spoken within these halls as well. Yet the elflings were adopted by the Foxes and so the choosing of how to call them fell to a vote among those folk." Sîrgell seemed reluctant to reveal the actual words.

"What, is it something terrible?" asked Cugu directly.

"Nay, not so bad as that, surely," stammered the prince as his face squinched up in a rather telling example of embarrassed objection. "The Foxes are very keen on boasting of physical attributes."

"Oh?" Cugu and Toloth spoke together, brows raised in amazingly similar expressions of ribald interest.

"What, um, kind of physical attributes, exactly," added Toloth with a curling grin upending his lips.

Erestor huffed in exasperation and pressed a hand against his weary eyes.

Sîrgell's mouth made a nicely symmetrical oval to match his widened eyes and he drew back, shaking his head and waving his hand through the air in front of him as if to clear it of the unintentional innuendo.

"Nay! Nothing of that…nature!" he hurriedly explained. "Elurín was called Bundgoru (Cunning Snout) and Eluréd was Lhawvaeg (Sharp Ears)."

For a moment the four elves were quiet as these rather unruly sounding appellations were pronounced. Then Cugu's eyes shifted left as Toloth's slipped right and they shared silent smirks before erupting into rollicking guffaws. In spite of himself, Erestor could not maintain his stoic demeanour in the face of their mirth. With a wet spluttery expulsion of air from between lips he was trying to clamp shut, the seneschal from Imladris burst into laughter. Relieved no offence was taken, Sîrgell joined in the merriment. The Chamber of Starlight rang with their exuberant delight.

"Of course," Sîrgell managed as the fit of laughing subsided into giggly snickers, "they used nicknames most of the time."

The Noldor quieted down and waited expectantly, still smiling as they gazed at the Sinda prince.

"Everyone just called one Coru (Cunning) and the other Lhaw (Ears)." This caused Cugu to snort and Toloth shook his head. "But few could tell them apart and so most of the time, they were just called Lhawgoru (Cunning Ears) collectively."

That set them all off again and soon the four elves were either leaning on one another for support or bent over clutching their bellies, tears squeezing out from the corners of their tightly sealed eyes. Cugu and Toloth revelled in the apt, if somewhat off-colour, reference to the sensitivity of Sindar ears, Erestor suddenly remembered that Celebrian had often called both her sons Trestad'adol (Double Trouble), while Sírgell was merely glad no one was angry over such indignity.

"Once they were grown, the brothers took matters in hand and made official the names their mother had given to them at birth: Eluréd was thereafter called Elril (Bright Star) and Elurín was known as Gilorthad (Rising Star)." The prince finally regained enough air in his lungs to report this bit of news. 

That brought the Noldor to silence again, for here was another poignant link to the Mariner's line. Nimloth (the mother of Elwing, Eluréd, and Elurín) must have had foresight to some degree, predicting the fate of her daughter's chosen mate long before either knew of the man's existence.

A few moments of solitude passed as the four elves turned once more to gaze upon the fair countenances of the lost princes of Doriath. Then Erestor inhaled deeply of the cool, scented air and rested a hand upon Sîrgell's shoulder.

"Hannad, Thranduilion," he said with a nod. "Now direct us to hot water and fresh garments, for I am ready to celebrate this night!"

TBC


	7. I Asked Them What They Wanted

Legolas sat on the edge of the feather mattress, thumb firmly ensconced in his mouth while the opposite hand lightly rested on Dae's head, one foot tucked beneath him, the other swinging in restless ennui. His nearly weightless heel made scarcely any disturbance as it repeatedly thumped against the solid beech wood frame supporting the bed.

Gazing in moderate interest at the entwined mass of blankets, limbs and hair belonging to the visiting Noldor warriors, the smallest of Thranduil's children tilted his head and leaned sideways. It was a fascinating puzzle, trying to follow the line of one limb and discern to which elf it was attached, only to find the connecting bit covered over with either the satin duvet or some part of the other ellon's body. The fact that both were naked and of similar skin shade and hair colour just served to make the conundrum more intriguing.

Legolas had already explored the rooms, a suite he had never been in before, noting all the details of the paintings on the walls, the leaf and vine pattern carved decoratively around the parlour's perimeter up high near the ceiling, and the softness of the chairs before the hearth. He had sniffed the contents of the decanter on the sideboard but did not taste the wine, for he was not allowed; however, he did take a nibble at the remains of a tart left over from the feast. It was quite dry and he had to drink a glass of water to wash away the stale taste. He had given the morsel to Dae.

Cautiously he had approached the lethal implements of war casually resting upon the round ash wood table barely large enough to comfortably seat two. Legolas had climbed onto one of the lyre-backed, blue velvet cushioned chairs pulled up beside it, reverently running his fingers over Cugu's finely tooled leather quiver packed with arrows fletched in white. With admirable self-control the prince held back from touching the magnificent bow, for he knew if once he felt the wood beneath his hands he would have to hold it, and that was surely forbidden.

Ada did not know that Galu was teaching him how to use a small bow and the child had been schooled diligently on the importance of keeping that fact a secret. He understood why this would displease his father, having heard 'when you are older' more often than he liked, and Galu's cautioning had held sufficient urgency to ensure the elfling's silence. And it seemed logical to Legolas that if Ada would not wish him to handle a miniature bow then a full-sized one was definitely prohibited.

Feeling an ache inside he did not want to concentrate on too much, the youngest prince had driven the memories back, for he did not enjoy thinking on how he was deceiving his father or the reason for it. He was eager to do anything asked if it meant acquiring the skills needed to avenge Nana.

Legolas had next turned his attention to the great broadswords. Admiring the symbols and inscriptions worked into their sheaths; he had tentatively wrapped his hand around the hilt of Toloth's blade. His brows had creased down in an impatient scowl; he could not even close his grasp upon it fully. Really, it took entirely too long to grow up and it seemed he would never be big enough to wield such a weapon.

There had been nothing more to see in the parlour. A maid had come in, stirred up the fire and lit the lamps but had left afterwards, smiling and giving the adorable hênellon (boy child) a silent hug, and had even patted Dae's shoulder. Legolas had not dared poke among the contents of the warriors' packs, resting against the wall near the inner door, for that would have been completely rude. No, there had been nothing else very interesting about the sitting room so he had wandered into the sleeping chamber where the pair of warriors was abed wearing the garb nature knitted them.

Not that the sight of nude or partially clad elves was a particularly uncommon one, for Legolas had numerous siblings and went swimming with them and his Ada often. Besides, he had developed a habit of walking into bedrooms when the occupants were in reverie and opinions regarding sleep apparel varied widely among the household's members. While this wandering was not exactly encouraged neither had it been expressly forbidden.

That was definitely Thranduil's fault, for he could not bear to punish his son for these intrusions nor prohibit such attempts to ease the loneliness and fears that accompanied Legolas' rest time.

Cugu mumbled something unintelligible yet distinctly irritable in tone as he made a vain attempt to tug a pillow from underneath his mate. Toloth only lay there staring off towards the far wall with a dreamy, contented expression upon his features.

Neither one seemed any closer to leaving the comfort and relaxation of reverie, however, and Legolas sighed with exaggerated malaise.

Dae Dínen swivelled her eyes up from beneath anxiously puckered brows to see her master's face and nudged the child in the belly with her nose. She was seated such that her huge grey head was resting in his lap, her bulk supported by the wooden bed rails, hunched in an awkward position due to the missing leg. Nonetheless her long feathered tail slapped half-heartedly twice against the floor in response to the young Tawarwaith's smile. Legolas patted her head and she replied with a very reedy, high-pitched whine that built into a short, sharp yap of impatience. The hound was also rather bored.

The Noldor warriors awoke in a tumult of thrashing arms and legs, confused disorientation muddling minds that sought to make sense of the strange surroundings and the unexpected sight of an elfling and dog at the foot of their bed. Cugu shoved to sit up while Toloth yanked on his arm in an attempt to bring himself vertical and the combined overexertion caused both to switch tactics. Toloth pushed and Cugu pulled and soon the pair ended up sprawled on the floor as the delighted laughter of the child flowed over them. The retired chaser began barking a rapid-fire cadence in a complex sequence of short and long vocal combinations, repeated in her full-throated booming voice.

"What on Arda," demanded Toloth, "are you doing, Cugu?"

"Trying to get you out of the way so I can see what is going on. Did you have to heave me onto the floor?"

"I? It was your fault!" Toloth had risen and extended his hand to his mate, rubbing his hip gingerly where he had taken the full force of Cugu's knee as they struck the stone. Fortunately, the stronghold palace was quite sumptuous and several layers of warm furs and rugs prevented them from colliding with the cold rock directly.

"I am sorry. Dae startled you; Cugu is not to blame," the nascent Lord of the House of Tawar spoke up to defend the warrior who had greeted him like a full-grown elf instead of a hênellen. By now the hound was on her feet and had trotted to stand before the bare-bodied elves, sounding the deep, drawn out, sonorous call used to announce the cornering of prey at bay. Legolas scampered across the bed to reach her. "Hush, Dae! No one is in danger!" he chided amid the deafening din.

"Valar! She is loud!" Cugu complained and covered his ears. "The whole of the population will soon come running!"

"Eru's arse!" Toloth at once began rummaging around amid the scattered rugs for clothing, alarmed at this possibility. "Did you lock the door?"

"Can you not see the prince and hear that dog, Toloth? Nay, I thought you had thrown the bolt, for I did ask you to do so."

"Dae Dínen! Guard!" commanded the diminutive Wood Elf and at once the beast ceased baying and assumed a still, ominous posture, placing her body between the bed where her charge knelt and its recent inhabitants, glittering eyes trained fixedly upon the foreign elves' faces. For all her menacing stance it was clear she found this a great game and much preferable to the morning's earlier enterprise of sitting and waiting for something to occur. Her jaws split apart in a merry, conspiratorial grin as she surveyed her prisoners, quite certain they were all in accord over the joke.

"Gohena nîn. I did not mean to rouse you so abruptly," Legolas apologised forlornly. "We will both be good and sit quietly now if you want to rest some more."

The Noldor were in the process of hastily, and unknowingly, donning each other's leggings and while they were of similar build Cugu was broader than Toloth, who was the taller of the pair, and thus neither was comfortable in the other's garments. With a disgusted groan Cugu realised the mistake first as he tried to lace up the pants. They shared aggrieved expressions pointedly indicative of their estimation of the sort of luck the new day promised and with simultaneous sighs disrobed and exchanged apparel.

"Nay, Ernil dithen (little prince), I do not think we shall rest anymore this day. Besides, it is late; we should not have stayed abed so long," Toloth reassured with a somewhat forced smile. He would quite have loved to remain in the feather bed, for after the lengthy journey, gruelling battle, lively dancing and excessive drinking of the feast (not to mention the strenuous exercise following our retirement from the festivities), he was tired. And truthfully, the celebration had gone on through the night; the warriors had returned to their quarters but three hours hence at most.

"What brings you here, Legolas?" asked Cugu with just a slight edge of vexation in his tone though he tried to smile as he spoke.

Before the elfling could answer, a knocking sounded at the outer door and Cugu left the bedchamber to answer it. There he found Sîrgell upon the threshold, staring in surprise to find his guest only half-dressed. The veteran hastened to set his host at ease, for the heir apparent immediately began to turn away, muttering regrets as he did so.

"Suilad, Sîrgell, please enter."

"Hannad. I am sorry to disturb you; I fear I have been unmindful of the fatigue your travels imparted," said the abashed elf.

"Please, do not apologise. We should have roused ourselves some time ago," Cugu said, then paused a moment, for while there was a window high in the stony wall through which bright light filtered, it was not wide enough to use for judging the progress of Arien. "How advanced is the day?"

"Ah, it is only two hours past minuial (dawn)," the hesitant answer was murmured. "I thought perhaps you and Toloth might enjoy a tour of our training grounds and stables today, for it is too late to accompany the patrols."

"Nay, Sîr!" the complaining cry sang from the inner room, preceding the youngling that generated it, and the older prince turned sharply as his baby brother tramped into the sitting room, Toloth and Dae following after. "I was going to invite the stranger elves to play in the garden today! They are too weary to spar against the soldiers."

"Tiuw (Sprout)!" scolded Sîrgell. He squatted down on his haunches and took hold of the small elf by the hands. "What are you doing in here? Were you invited or did you let yourself in again? What has Ada said to you about this?"

Legolas shrugged and gave his older brother the wide-eyed, liquid look most certain to garner a sympathetic response, for indeed Ada had cautioned him several times about entering chambers unbidden and unannounced. He had no wish for Sîr to report this infraction, for surely another 'talk' would be delivered and Minui Naneth (First mother - Ithilloth) would add additional restrictions to his currently limited activity.

"I knocked," assured the child, "and Cugu made a noise that sort of sounded like it might be 'Enter' so I did. I did not wake them up on purpose, promise, Sîr. You will not tell Ada?"

"Ai, Legolas!" Sîrgell moaned and bowed his head, shaking it slightly. He could not resist that imploring expression or the anxious entreaty. "I will not report it to Híren Adar if you go back to your rooms right away before Eirien notices your absence."

"But there is nothing to do there! And Eirien is busy cleaning the nursery; she told me to leave and stay out of trouble, but I am not allowed to go out in the garden by myself."

"Why, is that your punishment for escaping from her care?" chuckled Cugu as he bent down, hands on knees, to better see the child's endearingly recalcitrant expression.

"Aye." Grouched the irascible wood urchin. "And now she says she will be scrubbing up the whole day so I cannot go out at all!" Legolas' features brightened in hopeful excitement. "But if you come with me I can show you the best climbing trees and the foxes' burrows and the rock pile where the old black boa has a new family hidden away and…"

"Legolas!" Sîrgell interrupted for this verbal catalogue of wild life within the extensive palace grounds would take many minutes to complete. "Our guests have not had anything to eat nor have they refreshed themselves from reverie. Also, you are asking them to assist you in disobeying Eirien! I do not think they would be happy if she is displeased with them, do you? Now I will take you to the library and you can amuse yourself there."

"Nay, Sîr!" wailed the child. "She just said I cannot go by myself today, she never mentioned I could not get someone else to take me than her. And I do not want to sit among the books all day; Master Galion will give me a task!"

"A task?" Toloth was laughing at the elfling's obvious horror over such a thought. "What kind of work will he make you do, pen dithen (little one)?"

The child's face contorted into an expression of pure disgust and dread as he turned to the Noldo warrior. "Last time he gave me a rag and I had to dust off all the tables and the bottom shelves." A more thoughtful demeanour filled Legolas' expressive eyes. "I found a very fine book, though," he added, "with pictures of Gondolin and Glorfindel fighting the Balrog."

"There, you see? The library will not be so bad," consoled Cugu and patted Legolas' head. The downhearted sigh that followed this went straight to the warrior's soul and he sent a beseeching glance in Toloth's direction. His mate gave a brief nod. "Have you eaten yet, Ernil neth (young Prince)?"

"Nay. I did not want my porridge this morning; it had a funny smell."

Sîrgell let go of his baby brother and stood, struggling to contain a laughing smile over this blunt pronouncement and the accompanying look of complete abhorrence upon the angelic visage.

"You must be very hungry then," prompted Toloth and received an answering nod. "Alright, go with Sîrgell to the library and we will find you there after we are properly dressed. You will join us for a meal."

"And after that you may come along and help your brother give us a proper tour of the grounds," added Cugu affectionately.

"Yes! We may do that, Sîr?" the delighted jubilation in the youngster's voice would have been enough to melt even the staunchest resolve. Merged with the sight of Legolas bouncing on his toes in anticipatory impatience to begin the activity quite reduced the older brother to indulgent acquiescence; Legolas was so easy to please and asked for so little.

"Aye, we shall. Come along, Tiuw, and allow our guests some privacy now. We will not have to review Ada's instructions concerning sleeping rooms again, will we?" Sîrgell held out his hand and Legolas grasped it eagerly, long blond hair flying wild as he emphatically shook his head. "Express contrition and ask pardon."

Another frustrated exhalation escaped through the elfling's nose but he dutifully turned to face the visiting elves. "I regret my rude behaviour," he pronounced in the prosaic rhythm of rote. "I will not come in without permission again. And I am really sorry Dae made you fall off the bed," he added more sincerely.

"Ai! Legolas!" groaned Sîrgell.

"Hannad, Ernil dithen." Toloth's ageless features expressed his warm regard for the child and he gave the exasperated heir a conciliatory shoulder slap. "If you come to our rooms and find the outer door open, you are more than welcome to enter, announced or not."

"That is most generous," averred Sîrgell with a grateful smile. "You remember the way to the baths?" Cugu confirmed this and the prince continued. "The library is not far from the Council Chamber. Follow this hallway back there and then go up to the second level. Take the first passage on the left and the room is the second one opening on the right. Take your time; we will find another engrossing story to peruse while we wait."

"Not too long, though," implored Legolas.

"We will be there before you can finish the tale," assured Cugu as the bothers left the room, Dae Dínen trotting soundlessly in their wake. He shut the outer door. "I quite enjoy that young one!"

"Indeed! You miss your nephews and nieces?"

"Aye, but they were all grown before they sailed anyway. I suppose some of them have offspring of their own now."

"We will join them some day, Cugu."

The veteran warrior shrugged one shoulder. "Yet I know not what purpose we will serve there. What need has such a land of peace and harmony for old fighters like us?"

A solemn shake of his head was the only answer Toloth would make to that, for this was a topic he avoided discussing. Both were wary of their place among the High Elves and could not imagine leaving Imladris and the service of their Lord. Cugu had once confessed the desire to have the choice made available to Elrond's kin and asserted he would prefer a mortal existence filled with purpose to an immortal one of uncertain design. That had upset Toloth terribly, for he could not bear the idea of life without his mate by his side. The couple had left the subject alone after that.

Gathering clean clothes and tossing on their robes, the Imladrians left their quarters and set off for the refreshing comfort of clear water in the heated pools.

"I am highly impressed with the hospitality of King Thranduil's House," said Toloth to divert their minds from the dilemma of their future across the Sundering Sea. "We are treated like Lords here rather than humble soldiers."

"Aye. Our chambers are quite grand. I wonder what Lord Erestor's rooms must be like," Cugu nodded, admiring the stonework as they passed.

The hallway was not at all like the cramped confines of underground tunnels that had filled his thoughts when picturing the home of the Wood Elves' King. The corridor, carpeted in rich wool rugs of exquisitely beautiful forest scenes worked in vibrant colours, was taller than him by an arm's reach and wide enough for three elves to walk abreast. The stone above their heads was arched and buttressed in solid beams of oak carved with the symbols and mottoes of the numerous Houses.

Along the walls, the glowing torches were ensconced at regular intervals and high enough so that the level of luminance was comfortably close to natural sunlight. Between these the rock was smoothed to a satin finish and carved in panels of relief, depicting more of the history of the forest folk, with here and there a break in the design created by tapestries as aesthetic as any painted canvas either had beheld. The scrollwork design of leaves and vines adorned the upper reaches of each wall just above the torches. All in all, it was quite as pleasing, though in a different way, as the decor found in many homes in Imladris.

"I would guess our esteemed statesman is quartered in royal fashion," commented Toloth amiably. "Where is Erestor, do you think?"

"Already deep into negotiations with Thranduil and his Council, probably. I wonder what sort of agreement they will work out."

"Hard to say. Celeborn, as I understand it, wants some form of exchange among the Realms, but whether this will be of troops and soldiers or just diplomats only Erestor knows."

"What do you make of this practice of multiple mates? Do you suppose it is thus among the whole population?"

"That is difficult to imagine," Cugu shrugged. "I cannot see the point of it! We could ask Sîrgell, or do you suppose it is impolite to make such queries? I am no politician."

"Of course it is improper!"

"Why? You thought it alright to second-guess the guards protecting the late Curóniel, Queen Hervess Lefnui (Fifth Wife)."

"That is not the same, Cugu."

"Aye, it is."

"Nay. You and I are veteran warriors and thus fit to inquire about war-craft and defences."

"But that is worse, for it seemed you were critical of the Wood Elves' ability to protect their own."

"I certainly was not nor did Prince Necklace Male think thus. Questioning these unusual mating habits is far more insulting, for it points to a decided lapse in moral values."

"Ulmo's Balls! How can you say that when we are not exactly the expected parties to be joined in a traditional union?"

"Pffft!" Toloth made a crude noise with tongue and lips. "Surely same sex pairings are acceptable here for the King made nothing of it when you introduced me as your mate."

"I do not think it is wise to assume anything regarding these elves anymore," warned Cugu. Quite suddenly he halted, for of course the pair had been strolling along the whole time their mild quarrel was unfolding, and turned to gaze back down the hallway. He frowned and met Toloth's eyes. "Did it seem this long a way last night?"

"That I cannot be sure about, however I do recall that there was no curve in the passage," replied Toloth as he stared at the gently rounded walls before them.

Now that both were quiet, they could hear the sound of voices drifting towards them from around the bend. The stalwart soldiers were rather torn at this point, for they clearly needed assistance in order to find the correct way to the baths, and they were most certainly curious to learn what was transpiring further along, yet they were loathe to reveal either their poor senses of direction or their under-dressed appearance.

Toloth took a step closer but his mate held back. When Toloth turned to learn the reason, Cugu silently but emphatically shook his head and motioned with his hand for Toloth to return, pointing to the way from which they came.

A wilful caste settled over Toloth's features and he just as vehemently mimicked the gestures, soundlessly commanding his partner to join him. He took another step closer to the source of the low murmur of indistinct words and raised both brows expectantly.

Cugu crossed his arms before his chest and sent back a stare of stubborn resistance.

Toloth threw his hands and eyes ceiling-ward in a supplicating manoeuvre intended to entreat whichever Valar was currently observing. He pantomimed again, a sharp jerk of his head in the forward direction and yet another step at last brought Cugu forward albeit with a new arrangement of facial muscles meant to indicate his certainty that this was a grave error.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

##### Beta'd by Sarah AK, remaining errors are mine alone.   _Italics indicate thoughts._

### VIII. And This is What They Said

  
Sharing a wary look and checking to make sure their robes were  
discreetly closed Cugu and Toloth inched forward. Everything was so  
quiet they could hear the soft hissing from the burning lamps high  
above their heads, punctuated every now and then by an indistinct word  
or two floating on the air. As the pair progressed, they found  
themselves slinking closer and closer to the finely decorated wall  
until they were nearly scraping against it, hoping to avoid discovery.  
It was not so much that they feared to be accused of intruding on  
private quarters as wanting to know whom they would be facing should  
they be caught out.

Losing one's bearings was an embarrassment not normally endured by an  
adult elf trained in tracking and hunting. And the Noldor had been  
subjected to more than enough humiliating events lately. It was really  
quite a lot of pressure to serve as representatives for the entire  
Realm of Imladris, and the soldiers truly had no wish to make their  
lands and people seem foolish or uncouth.

They were both grateful that, judging by the timbre of the combined  
voices, the speakers did not include Erestor. The noble elda was not in  
the vicinity to behold their dilemma and tender over that icy stare, a  
frigid promise to deliver a stinging reprimand as soon as time  
permitted. And Erestor never, ever forgot a single infraction.

Plus, Glorfindel was his friend and confidante and would receive a full  
report of the couples' deportment during the expedition. If The Lord of  
the House of the Golden Flower deemed their behaviour less than  
fitting, he would no doubt relegate them to some tedious and detestable  
chore usually reserved for novice warriors just entering the ranks.  
Cugu and Toloth would be quite happy for their superiors to remain  
uninformed of the morning's minor incidents.

Besides, this was the sort of debacle that ended up bandied about in  
the Hall of Fire after half a bottle or so of Elrond's Famous Blueberry  
Wine had been consumed. If Erestor learned of their slip-up, he could  
hold the knowledge hostage, demanding their silence regarding his loss  
of temper in the rain in exchange for his discretion. The veteran  
fighters, however, were not willing to relinquish the advantage so  
easily, for it was too great a coup. To their memories, no one had  
ever, not even once, had a tale to tell that humbled Lord Erestor, the  
always proper, perfect, pristine example of everything a well-bred  
Noldo should be. The couple would be instantly famous.

And every time the barometer dropped Erestor would be subjected to  
ribbing and roasting and would no doubt accumulate an impressive  
collection of umbrellas over the centuries to come.

The visitors crept closer and presently their sneaking brought them  
near enough to comprehend specific words. The voices were definitely  
feminine but the meaning of the discussion was ambiguous, though spoken  
in recognisable Sindarin. Toloth and Cugu spied an arched opening to  
their right, definitely the location of the muted music of female  
speech they had detected. They halted just before the break in the  
passage wall and listened intently, leaning forward as much as they  
dared without risking being seen.

"Naud. (Bound (aka Chow))"

"Tsk! Nae! (Alas!)"

"Tadui (Second) is trying for Mîr Dhelin. (Hidden Jewels)"

"Tang! (Bowstring (aka Pung!))"

"Ai! Nestegi! (F—!)"

The Noldor peered at one another in shocked bewilderment for the voice  
expressing that last expletive had sounded much like the elegant silver  
Queen's. The couple edged to the open door and peeked inside. There the  
four wives were seated at an ornately carved cedar wood table upon  
which a strange array of small rectangular bone tiles was set. It  
looked almost like a sort of staged battle with the various opponents'  
'troops' advancing upon a broken city wall, within which a host of  
up-facing tiles lay scattered.

Each of the females avidly watched the exchange of pieces as some were  
selected from the walls and others discarded from each one's collection  
of tiles. In front of the players' ranks, matched sets of the tokens in  
groups of three or four were laid face up, revealing tiny  
multi-coloured pictures and symbols. The ladies' hands moved so rapidly  
it was somewhat difficult to tell who had the advantage and the tense  
expressions on their faces declared the match to be close. What the  
stakes were the warriors could little fathom other than to assume this  
might be more than a friendly parlour game. So engrossed in the game  
were the ellyth that they did not notice the Noldor gaping at them from  
the hallway.

"Toss. (Blackthorn (aka Kong))"

"Cai Fileg! (Hedge Bird (aka Mah Jong!))" Corchrîn suddenly and  
jubilantly announced, laying down all her tiles in nice neat groups.  
"Canad Galu Veleg (Four Great Blessings)," she added smugly as the  
other three sighed and groaned. "And I am Rhûn Gwaew (East Wind)  
today thus my points double!"

"Do not become haughty, Canthui (Fourth); this is but the first match.  
There are many more rounds to go," admonished Huneb'ell.

"Of course, Nelui (Third)," answered the youngest queen, respectfully  
bowing her head.

With the hand finished the ladies proceeded to tally up their scores  
and Ithilloth laid all the tiles face down, except the ones she had  
held, and began mixing them around on the surface of the table.

The chamber in which they were seated was a red room.

It was a rather opulent parlour, decorated in rich plush fabrics  
artfully embroidered in gold thread, which covered well-stuffed and  
comfortable looking sofas, chaises, and armchairs. The side tables  
scattered among these seating options were reduced versions of the main  
one upon which the wives competed. The walls were completely covered in  
draperies and tapestries such that not a centimetre of stone was  
visible, save one. That wall was lined with weapons and shields and the  
Noldor had no doubt these belonged to the ellyth within. Likewise the  
floor was thickly carpeted, and only directly beneath the hearth was  
any rock uncovered.

The huge, wrought iron, footed grate occupied the centre of the cavern.  
This was formed in the shape of a cedar tree with the roots serving as  
the feet and firebox while the long trunk supplied a chimney that  
disappeared through the ceiling of the spacious cavern. From the  
artfully cast branches, lanterns hung at various levels spilling a  
diffuse illumination that was concentrated near the centre where the  
table was situated. A fire blazed brightly in the stove, orange flames  
flickering through the gnarled design of the cedar's roots. It was a  
strange image, a tree clasping dancing tongues of deadly heat in its  
toes.

Obviously a chamber specific to the wives, soft, inviting, sumptuous  
and designed for ease, there was yet an atmosphere of forbidding power  
about the space that rather gave the warriors a chill. It was  
undoubtedly the conjunction of comfort and conflict, of green life  
harbouring fire that generated the uneasiness collecting in their  
hearts. It took them but a moment to assimilate the lessons within  
these incongruous details. The apartment was an overt display of the  
females' dual abilities to both create and destroy life.

Cugu shook his head, recalling Sîrgell's words from the previous  
day. _Wood, fire, and light; weapons in a parlour where ladies  
reside playing games. It is safety and comfort through vigilance. Life,  
death, and immortality, all three within their hands! _ He shivered.

Ithilloth caught the slight movement in her peripheral vision as Toloth  
shifted back from the portal to better see what ailed his mate. At once  
she excused herself and moved to the passageway to join them.

"Mellynen (my friends), how may I help you?" she gave them a cursory  
appraisal and smiled, hands entwining before her waist serenely. "I  
believe you may have missed the corridor to the rear stairway and the  
bathing pools."

"Please do not leave your game on our account, noble Lady," implored  
Cugu as he bowed, shamed to be discovered unshod and wearing his robe  
but little more. _These elves will soon come to think the Noldor  
never dress appropriately!_ When he righted himself he noticed that  
the other wives' attention was also fixed upon him and his mate,  
bemused curiosity apparent on their comely features. It took great  
strength of will not to give in to the urge to turn and bolt.

"Nay, I have lost the round and must be excluded from the next match.  
It is our own variation on the rules of play for this type of contest.  
It is of no concern; I am the victor often enough and must return to  
the Council Chamber for my meeting with your colleague.

"But where is Sîrgell, for surely I charged him with your  
service?" The silver Queen lead the way back down the passage as she  
spoke, and both Imladrians were glad to leave the gawking regard of  
Thranduil's remaining spouses.

"Do not blame your son, good Queen," pleaded Toloth. "He is tending the  
youngest prince whilst we bath and prepare for the day. The four of us  
are to tour the grounds after breaking fast."

"Legolas? And where did you run upon him, if I may ask?"

The refined elleth's enchanting voice definitely became a tad sharper  
and the veteran soldier suddenly realised he might have unintentionally  
got the little one into trouble. Toloth shared a dismayed glance with  
Cugu.

"Ah, he was discharged from the nursery by Eirien, I believe, and came  
to invite us to see 'the best climbing trees, the fox burrows, and the  
rock pile where a boa lives'," Cugu replied in a genial air meant to  
divert the astute inu from further questions. "Sîrgell was with  
him when the invitation was tendered, of course."

"Yes. And we were so caught up in admiration and discussion of the  
stronghold's elegance that we became los…er…overlooked the correct  
door," added Toloth, intending to direct her thoughts away from the  
child.

Ithilloth sent them both a shrewdly calculating look through indulgent  
eyes that clearly communicated she was not in the least deceived,  
either about Legolas' appearance in their rooms or their lack of  
cognisance over exactly how to find the baths, but asked no more on the  
subjects.

"I will ask Annûnfaen to draw a map of the stronghold's layout  
for you," she said with wry amusement. "Here is the turning you need;  
the stairs are just beyond the second archway, there."

The Noldo thanked her graciously and moved forward, then stopped as  
Cugu turned to her again.

"Ah, noble Lady, about the diagram," he began hesitantly, for he did  
not wish to appear ungrateful and the schematic would truly be welcomed.

"Yes?" Ithilloth prompted.

"If it is not too impertinent to ask, would you consider keeping the  
reason for this gracious and utilitarian gift from our Lord's  
knowledge?"

Ithilloth laughed merrily and nodded as she softly clapped her hands  
twice with girlish glee.

"Worry not; he is unlikely to say anything about it, since I  
commissioned one for him earlier this morning. Galion discovered  
Erestor wandering forlornly in the cellars, unable to explain how his  
feet had carried him there and profusely insisting he was not  
attempting to help himself to Thranduil's prized Dorwinion!"

Cugu and Toloth's countenances mirrored the Queen's amusement and they  
thanked her anew, hurried away and in less than an hour had completed  
their ablutions.

Eagerly they headed toward the Chamber of Starlight and did not become  
lost this time. They found the library and entered the inviting study  
where the two princes were snugly settled in a tremendous brown leather  
upholstered chair, the hunting dog sprawled out at their feet. Both  
warriors were glad to see no signs of any chastisement marring the  
elfling's features and hoped the King's First Wife would not make  
additional inquiries into Legolas' presence in their suite. The child  
fairly exploded off his brother's lap upon sighting them and bounded  
over to the Imladrians.

"You were a very long time!" he complained. "Does everyone in Imladris  
take such lengthy baths?"

"Legolas!" Sîrgell reprimanded in mortified tones, but the  
warriors were smiling warmly as each gave the princling the customary  
soldier's arm clasp.

"Nay, Ernil Vallen (Golden Prince). We rarely have such luxury for we  
are often out in the wilds patrolling our Lord's lands," replied Toloth.

"So you must forgive us for indulging your Adar's magnificent  
hospitality a little more than most!" added Cugu. "I am hungry,  
Legolas, are you?"

"Aye, there is a wolf in my belly," he said and did not really see why  
this was so amusing to the big elves. It certainly sounded like a great  
beast growling to him and his stomach obliged by producing a loud  
complaint at that precise moment. "There!" he crowed and Dae gave a  
soft bark of agreement as she ambled over to flank the princeling.

"Indeed!" laughed Sîrgell, shaking his head as he joined them.  
"Then we had best feed the wild thing so he will go back to stealthy  
silence!" He leaned down and patted his baby brother's stomach  
affectionately and held out a hand, which Legolas took. The quintet set  
off, princes leading the way, Noldor right behind, and the chaser  
guarding their rear. Before long they were near enough to the kitchens  
to smell the enticingly mingled aromas of lembas baking, fruit pies  
cooling, and game roasting.

"Oh, my wolf is waking up now also," said Cugu, inhaling a deep lungful  
of the delicious scents.

"Hah! More like an unruly warg!" smirked Toloth and received a playful  
cuff from his mate for it.

Legolas had been watching and reacted with predictable snickers. "Are  
you brothers? You sort of look alike."

"Nay, we are not blood relations, Legolas," said Cugu and tried to give  
a surreptitious evaluation of Toloth to see if he could spot this  
resemblance. He found Toloth engaged in exactly the same activity and  
hastily returned attention to the elfling. "We have been together so  
long, however, that I suppose we understand each other as well or  
better than most brothers."

"Why do you have to share a room and bed? If you each had a chamber  
then neither would fall on the floor when you try to get up."

"Legolas, those are not proper questions!" hissed Sîrgell and  
gave a decidedly harsh tug on his irrepressible little brother's hand.  
"I beg forgiveness for Legolas' overactive curiosity, he does not mean  
to be forward," he hurriedly added with a glance at the warriors that  
bespoke absolute chagrin.

"Oh it is alright," assured Toloth. "We do not mind. Ask whatever you  
wish, Legolas."

"Aye, but after we eat!" exclaimed Cugu, cleverly distracting the child  
for he could tell by their host's red-eared countenance that  
Sîrgell was not adequately prepared to explain the situation and  
desperately uncomfortable over being the one who would have to do so. _So_  
much for Toloth's assumptions!

They stood on the threshold of the bustling, noisy, clamour of the  
cook's domain. In fascinated awe the quartet observed as elves  
practically ran from place to place and station to station, preparing  
and mixing, chopping and grinding, stirring and tasting while never  
once colliding with one another, knocking ingredients to the floor, or  
spilling anything. The Senior Chef, a tall and imposingly broad elf,  
spotted the group about to intrude upon the flawless precision of her  
kitchen and abandoned observation of a simmering stew to advance to  
their location.

"I will not say 'Mae Govannen' for you are certainly not!" she pointed  
at Sîrgell but included them all in a piercingly disapproving  
glare. "This is late to be breaking fast and my team is busy preparing  
for luncheon. And you," she focused in on the elfling, "did not eat  
this morning. I sent word to Eirien and she returned instructions for  
you to have the porridge when your stomach carried you back here."

"But I do not want it!" Legolas griped. "I want an apple and a plum  
cake instead." He tried the endearing gaze of limpid blue that  
generally ensured getting his way, but the Senior Chef just quirked an  
eyebrow and shook her head.

"That you can take up with Eirien. I am not about to end up in her bad  
graces just so you can indulge that sweet-tooth!" She transferred her  
attention back to the grown-ups. "Sîrgell, please escort your  
company to the small refectory. Whatever is left of the dawn repast has  
not been cleared away yet and I am sure will be satisfactory.

"You have just missed breaking fast with your Lord," she met the eyes  
of Cugu and Toloth. "Aran Thranduil and Hîr Erestor dined  
together about an hour ago. I hope you will find our offerings as  
pleasing as did he."

"I am certain the victuals will be delicious, judging from the fare  
served last night." Cugu dipped his head in a polite nod as he paid  
this compliment.

"Well now, those are gracious words and I thank you!" The elleth at  
last smiled. "Go along, then, and I will have Fêrlass bring your  
porridge, Legolas." She did not budge until the four elves and the  
hound turned back from her doorway and herded into the less formal  
dining area just off the kitchens.

It was a delightfully bright and airy room, situated at ground level  
and on the outermost bounds of the mountain's honeycombed heart. In  
fact, it was less a chamber than an alcove in the rock, with the whole  
of one side open to the kitchen gardens beyond. Sunlight streamed in,  
illuminating the cosy interior, which was simply but prettily  
appointed. There were ten round tables, none of them occupied, arranged  
within the space. Each one was set with a bright yellow and white cloth  
covering, a spray of honey-suckle and morning glories, a cobalt blue  
earthenware pitcher of fresh, clear water, and four matching cups.

Along the wall abutting the doorway, a long table served as a buffet.  
Collected upon it were numerous delectable items including fresh fruit,  
muffins, breads and pastries, a selection of cheeses both hard and  
spreadable, and a hot, steaming black brew with a strong invigorating  
aroma that was most definitely not tea. This concoction was held in a  
large footed urn under which a tiny, lighted candle was burning to keep  
the temperature even.

There was clear golden honey in a tall glass jar, a jug of white cream  
in a tub of icy water, a tray upon which suitable implements for use in  
eating were gathered, and a stack of plates matching the brilliant  
colour of the pitchers and cups. A collection of large fat mugs with  
gracefully practical handles, so that the hot drink could be enjoyed  
without discomfort to the fingers, was grouped near the urn.

Sîrgell grabbed one of these and poured himself a brimming  
serving of the pungent liquid. Into this he dripped a liberal dollop of  
the sweet honey, added a quick splash of the cream, and vigorously  
stirred. He scarcely paused to blow a cooling breath across the  
shimmering inky surface before taking a sip. An expression equal parts  
bliss and relief spread across his features as his eyes closed and he  
nodded.

"Perfect," he announced happily and smiled at his guests. "Please help  
yourselves; the coffee is excellent this morning." He took up a plate  
and began piling on food, a sample of everything, including a large  
slice of the plum cake his little brother had so desired.

Legolas trotted disconsolately behind as Sîrgell went to the  
tables closest to the open view, chose one, and sat down. The two  
Imladrians joined them, laden with heaping plates and half-filled mugs  
of the strong drink. They had all just got seated comfortably when  
another elf, a large apron tied over his garments, entered from the  
kitchen and hurried over.

"Maer Aur (Good Morning)," he said though his manner indicated he  
neither believed nor meant the words. "Here is your porridge, Tiuw." A  
small dish was plunked down in front of the youngest prince. "I added  
extra honey and cinnamon along with the currants. You cannot refuse it  
this time; Eirien's orders!"

"Raven Dancer!" called Cugu merrily, for it was indeed the eldest twin.  
"How do you fare this day?"

Fêrlass sent him a thin smile beneath sparking black eyes and  
declined to respond as he verily stomped back to his assigned  
punishment in the kitchens.

"Your Raven brother does not seem too cheerful today," remarked Toloth  
with a chuckle. A deep sigh caused him to glance down at the elfling in  
the chair to his left. The child was listlessly stirring his porridge,  
brow furrowed and mouth down-turned. "Do you hate the cereal so very  
much, Legolas? It does not really smell bad to me." The warrior leaned  
down and inhaled deeply of the spicily sweet scent.

"Aye, normally you like it, Tiuw. Just start in and you will soon  
remember how the taste pleases you," encouraged Sîrgell. "Once  
you have finished I will give you half of my plum cake."

"But Sîr," the whiney contradiction began.

"Nay, no more! You have already started the day off by getting into  
trouble. You had best follow Eirien's instructions and eat every bite."

Legolas made another distressed exhalation. He was really very hungry  
but was not going to consume his porridge. _I do not care what  
Eirien says; she did not smell it! Why can I not just have an apple?_  
The stranger elves, he noted, had both an apple and grapes on their  
plates. An idea struck Thranduil's youngest then and he turned his  
woebegone expression complete with heart-wrenchingly, wistfully  
aggrieved cornflower depths upon Cugu, hoping to induce the guest into  
sharing.

The warrior had absolutely no defences at his command to ward off such  
an achingly adorable visage and at once fell under the elfling's spell.

"Oh, now it cannot be that bad! Here, I will taste it for you first and  
you will see how fine it is," he said enthusiastically as he took up  
his spoon and leaned over the child's place.

"But Cugu," Legolas' eyes had grown hugely round and a pronounced edge  
of warning hovered in his pitch and tone. Before he could continue, the  
soldier had scooped up a mounded spoonful and carried it to his lips,  
which willingly opened to receive the sample.

Cugu chewed twice and then his eyes bulged almost as large as the  
princeling's. Frantically he clapped a hand over his mouth as he looked  
around and then snatched the napkin from his lap.

"Cugu! What is the matter?" demanded Toloth in fright.

Everyone averted their faces as the Noldo regurgitated the offending  
substance and then used the end of the cloth to wipe at his tongue. He  
grabbed his mug and took a great swig of the coffee, which caused his  
eyes to water as they grew even larger while his lips puckered up  
rather like one would expect had he just bitten a sour lemon. Cugu  
hastily spewed the acrid liquid back into the mug, poured a glass of  
water, took a mouthful, swished that around and then spat into one of  
the empty cups. After that he finally took a huge breath and shuddered  
as he turned to Legolas.

"Pen Dithen, your nose did not lie. I am glad you did not eat that  
after all. Here, I think we both deserve an apple and a bit of sweet,"  
he announced and moved the offending bowl of porridge from in front of  
Legolas, replacing it with the named items.

"I am sorry, Cugu. I tried to warn you, but you were very quick! I did  
not mean for you to eat it," said Legolas and took a tremendous bite of  
the apple.

"Legolas, what is going on?" demanded Sîrgell suspiciously.

"Aye, what is wrong with that gruel, Cugu?" added Toloth.

His mate was munching on the plum cake, savouring the pleasing taste,  
eager to remove all memory of the sour, acrid, foetid quality of the  
elfling's breakfast from his palate. Cugu politely refrained until he  
had swallowed, however, before trying to respond and the others waited  
impatiently, for Legolas also had a mouth too full to make explanations  
possible. Finally the veteran of the Last Alliance pointed to the  
serving of creamy white mush dotted with small, oval brown bits.

"Those," said Cugu solemnly, "are not currants!"

"What?" Toloth and Sîrgell exclaimed together and the prince  
grabbed the bowl, drawing it near. He sniffed and lifted his spoon,  
gingerly poking at the dark matter suspended in the congealing mass.  
Enlightenment suffused both elves' eyes, which met in consternation  
over the porridge before transferring to gaze in sympathy first at Cugu  
and then Legolas.

"Deer droppings!" announced Toloth, shaking his head in disapproval as  
his lips set in a rigid line.

"Nay, rabbits'," corrected Legolas as Cugu nodded confirmation.

"Fêrlass!" the eldest prince hissed as he leaped up, tipping over  
his chair in the process. Carrying the evidence with him, Sîrgell  
stormed toward the kitchen.

…continued

A/N: the elvish words used by the wives in their game are arbitrary as  
there are no equivalents in Sindarin. There is no mention in Tolkien's  
works that elves played such a game, the human equivalent of which  
should be obvious from the text, and thus the rules have been tampered  
with to suit the circumstances. Wouldn't it be lovely to have an elvish  
set, though?

If you are unfamiliar with Mah Jong, it is a very ancient game that  
originated in China, with four players using a set of tiles with which  
each attempts to construct a winning hand by matching suites or symbols  
or categories in groups of 3 or four. The rules are too complex to  
explain here! Besides, you have to see what it looks like to get the  
idea. Just type in Mah Jong to your search engine and numerous sites  
will show up! Beware! Mah Jong has been known to be addictive!

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

##### Beta'd by Sarah AK, remaining errors are mine alone.    _Italics indicate thoughts._

### IX. The Roster of Thranduil's Household

  
A reckoning of Thranduil's children, their Mothers, Houses, and Ages follows. There are so many that it gets nearly impossible to remember one from another! Human age equivalents shown thus: (24) are approximate. Tolkien says, up to around age five, elves and humans were close developmentally, but after that humans matured much more quickly, almost 2.8 times faster than elven rates of growth. (Arrived by using Tolkien's age of majority for Noldor elves = 50 years divided by modern American concept of maturity at age 18 =2.8 years for elves is the same as 1 year for humans in terms of growth. See Morgoth's Ring for Tolkien's thoughts on this.)

And I am adding another note due to a comment made on another site: time gaps, and any other strange facet of this tale, are not to be overlooked by anyone. If there is something bugging you, (such as why on earth did Thranduil wait until late in the Third Age to start having all these children) rest assured it is bugging Erestor and Co. and most likely is a way for the humble writer to introduce something outlandish or unexpected. Please remember this story is being written with my tongue shoved quite firmly against my cheek, and it is thus supposed to be rather outrageous and not taken too seriously!

The Children by Mother's Ranking and House:  
  
Ithilloth (Moonflower - 1st Wife)  
 **  
Sîrgell  
** (Running River), Aka Necklace Male  
House of the Beech Tree   
67 years(24)

Crowned Prince, looks like Thranduil, blonde, tall, kind and brave, archer and swordsman. He is the only one representing Oropher's heritage and House, the heir to the throne of Greenwood. After Thranduil, he is Second Commander of the Realm (though the real power does not reside with this position) and despite his young age is very aggressive and has killed over two hundred Orcs and countless spiders. He is in love with the daughter of one of his captains. Both his parents and hers approve the match, for Tulus (Poplar) belongs to the House of the Boa, a worthy affiliation, is skilled with the lance and the bow, and she will make an excellent 1st Wife for the future King.  
 ****  
Orgilion  
(Star's Day)  
House of the Hawk  
58 years (21)

Brunet, hazel eyes, mischievous, clever, archer. He represents his maternal grandfather's House as Ion Vinui (1st Son), youngest Lord of the Hawk clan, very eligible mate material, handsome and knows it. Not serious about anyone, plays the field perhaps too much. He is trying to convince his parents to allow him to become one of the Athedrainyn (Border Crossers, aka messengers) so he can venture beyond the forest and see other lands. He is a captain among the troops guarding the Central Regions and also a delegate to Laketown when such is needed as he is gifted in diplomacy.  
 ****  
Menelfân  
(Cloudy Sky)  
House of the Hawk  
53 years (19)

Brunet with silver streaks, ocean blue eyes, discovered the guests, archer & knives expert. He is more introverted than Orgilion, but will rise to his brother's defence instantly. They are best friends, often plan pranks against the siblings of the other Houses. He is Ion Edwen (2nd Son) of the Hawk clan and also a Lord, highly eligible but not as vain as Orgilion. Has his heart set on an elleth of the House of the Fox but she seems not to know he exists. He is fearless and adept in hunting down Orcs, an inspiration to his fellow warriors, and thus a year before his majority was made a captain of the guards on the Northern Border's defence.

However, the loss of Curóniel on his watch is weighing him down and now he doubts his abilities, the more so because his father, fearing his mental state, has reassigned him temporarily to internal defence, that is patrolling the Dwarven Road, and Orgilion never leaves his side. This over-protective behaviour is due to Menelfân's increasing obsession with striking back at the Wraiths head on. Everyone fears he will ride off to Dol Guldur and challenge the vile spirits alone, trying to atone for what he feels is his failure.  
  
Calargyll (Lamp Bearer - 2nd Wife)  
 ****  
Lothanor  
(Sunflower)  
aka Butterfly Face  
House of the Butterfly  
64 years (23)

Brunet hair and green eyed, she is Sell Vinui (1st Daughter) and should anything happen to Sîrgell's mate Lothanor would become Queen. She is the highest ranked daughter and thus is more eligible even than her brothers and is much sought after. Thus far she has refused all suitors and some say (but not in Thranduil's hearing range) this is because she is smitten with a foreign Lord she encountered on a journey to Mithlond. Lothanor planned the prank and is in general rather bored with politics, even though by inheritance she is already Under Councillor of Law and will succeed her mother should the need arise. She is a skilled archer.  
 ****  
Brithla  
(Pearl)  
aka Silver Hoop Septum  
House of the Butterfly  
56 years (20)

Brunet, brown eyes, very fun-loving and has a great sense of humour. She also notices everything and does not forget anything she observes. She devotedly looks up to and follows Lothanor, adores her Adar and Naneth, hates weapons, and is a poet and harpist. She is the second ranked daughter and a hopeless romantic. She can afford to be picky and plans to be, but she has a weakness for a dashing dark-haired ellon of the House of the Stag, a veteran Athedrainyn. She is pretending to play hard to get and I-Vrass (The Heat - his nickname. You know, like those fighter pilots in 'Top Gun'? All the Athedrainyn have colourful nicknames, too.) is pretending not to notice her infatuation. Truthfully, he fears Thranduil because his older brother had a disagreement with the King over territory rights in the central forest, so he is reluctant to follow his heart.  
 ****  
Gwirithiel  
(April's Daughter)  
House of the Butterfly  
50 years (18)

Brunet with hazel eyes, Gwirithiel has just reached her majority mere months ago and is suddenly very bossy and wilful with her younger siblings and the palace staff. She is her mother's favourite, being youngest and last of her children, and does not mind flaunting this to Lothanor, of whose position she is envious. She is smart, intuitive, and empathic, and is training as a healer. She is Glamor's best friend and they frequently try to annoy their older sister and cause her trouble. At this time, she is the best archer in the woods, having won every competition among her age group and among veterans as well.  
  
Huneb'ell (Joy Hearted - 3rd Wife)  
 ****  
Glamor  
(Echo)  
House of the Blue Dragon  
50 years (18)

Redhead with green eyes, she is a ringleader among her siblings despite being just at majority. She is one month younger than Gwirithiel and they are inseparable. Glamor is much like her mother, proud and strong, fierce and loyal, conservative and dedicated, and an accomplished warrior with any weapon she chooses to take up. She competes with Lothanor for leadership, though she is not high enough in rank to ever supplant her sister. She is a bit arrogant and considers all the warriors in her class inferior and unworthy as mates, such that her mother despairs of seeing grandchildren. Glamor prefers the bow but is equally adept with the sword.  
 ****  
Galurem  
(Many Blessings)  
House of the Blue Dragon  
44 years (16)

Brunet hair with dark blue eyes, Galu is highly protective of Legolas, especially after the death of Curóniel, and often puts aside fun with his friends to spend time with the youngster instead. His moods are mercurial due to his maturing body's surging hormones, and he is afraid to tell anyone, especially his mother, that he experiences attraction to males only. As far as he knows, he is the only one like this and he feels like a freak, the real reason he has begun avoiding his friends. He is teaching Legolas to use a child's bow, unknown to Thranduil, and frequently takes care of his brother when Eirien needs a break. Galurem is best with knives and has perfected a throwing technique used with small, four pointed blades that is as accurate as an arrow and better for short range kills.

A brief note regarding the Dragon children: due to the strained relationship between their mother and father, these two have not become as close to Thranduil and the other siblings. Their mother oversees them and usually over-rules whatever Thranduil might suggest. Further explanation found below in the wives' descriptions.  
  
Corchrîn (Crowned Crow - 4th Wife)  
 ****  
Fêrlass  
(Beechleaf)  
aka Raven Dancer  
House of the Raven  
47 years (17)

The oldest twin of the Raven House and great-great grandson of Elril, one of the Lost Princes of Dior and thus distantly related to Elrond and his children. Fêrlass is clever and resourceful, highly skilled with the bow, and very gregarious. He loves his twin, but now that he is maturing has begun to seek time apart, trying to establish his identity. It was he that taught the rest of the siblings the secret language he and his twin developed in childhood. The coal black hair and eyes of the Ravens sets them apart and makes them exotic and desirable, so this sometimes goes to their heads. Fêrlass is the more serious of the twins and is an gifted poet. He takes responsibility for everything. He also tries to include Legolas more in family activities, but the elfling is so much younger it is quite difficult to do at times.

 

****  
Doronlass  
(Oakleaf)  
aka Orange Clout  
House of the Raven  
47 years (17)

The second-born twin, identical in appearance. As descendants of the Raven Founders, both twins are highly respected and will be powerful Lords of their kin when they come of age. Even now many clans are vying for the chance to have eligible daughters courted by the twins. Doronlass uses this to garner all sorts of favours and gifts, knowing he has no interest in any of the females. He is disturbed that Fêrlass seems to be pulling away from him and does not understand why. They are still best friends however. Doronlass is an artist, a sculptor, and also prefers the bow. He is left-handed and his twin is right-handed. Doron is a bit smug due to the knowledge that their mother is Thranduil's Beloved, his heart's mate, regardless of her lesser rank among the wives. They married for love rather than necessity.  
 ****  
Annûnfaen  
(Magnificent Sunset)  
House of the Raven  
42 years (15)

Unlike her brothers, she has brown hair and eyes. She is the brains among the twelve siblings and invents things, tinkering with machines and tools of various kinds. She seldom forgets anything and is very inquisitive. She is working her way through the contents of the library and the tutors have given up being able to answer the sorts of questions she comes up with, for she has surpassed them in understanding of many concepts. She is just beginning to notice the appreciative glances sent her way by various would-be suitors and has mixed feelings about it. She secretly believes too much responsibility is placed upon the females of the realm and wishes she had the freedom to refrain from the expected courtship and marriage. She wants to become Radagast's apprentice and learn the arts of wizardry, but keeps this to herself for now. She is a fine singer and skilled with the bow.

 

  
Curóniel (Daughter of the Crescent Moon - 5th Wife)  
 ****  
Legolas  
(Green Leaf)  
House of Tawar  
5 years (4)

Beautiful, bright, and very lonely, Legolas resembles his mother with luminous golden hair and clear blue eyes. He is small for his Naneth was, but also because grief has stalled his development somewhat. The baby of the family, Legolas is so much younger than his other siblings it is almost like being an only child. They seldom have time for him and when they plan things as a group he is left out because he is too young. He cannot go riding in the woods and cannot join the hunts. He does not like staying with Eirien in the nursery, for he is not a baby anymore. He is the heir to the Lordship of the House of Tawar and also the heir to the title 'Tawarwaith', a spiritual leader among the Wood Elves. He takes this very seriously and feels he should grow up right away so he can take his mother's place. Her death has left him ill with grief, but he is slowly coming around due to the rest of the family's love and care, especially Thranduil, Corchrîn, and Galurem.  
 **  
The WIVES  
**  
It should be obvious by now that Nandor culture is quite a bit different compared to the other elven realms. More explanation will follow and for now the confusion is an important part of the story, so if you feel mystified that is normal for this is to be viewed from the Noldor perspective. How and why these females were chosen to be Thranduil's wives will be made clear eventually. Here is a list of the wives, their ranks, and their Houses. You will note the House of the child does not always match the House of the mother, or of Thranduil. There is a reason for this. Please keep in mind that Thranduil is Sindarin, and customs among those elves are vastly different from that of the Wood Elves among which he now lives.  


**Ithilloth**  
(Moonflower)  
1st Wife  
House of Tawar

Silver-haired, ice-blue eyes, regal and noble, she is the highest-ranking female of her clan, the oldest recognised House among the woodland folk. Though first-born and also Sell Vinui (1st Daughter), she was not graced with the birthmark of Tawar. Her mother was Tawarwaith and died of spider poison centuries ago. Her father still lives. He is Lord of the Hawks and a powerful noble. She is Queen in her own right and thus it was pre-ordained that she and Thranduil must wed after the Last Alliance destroyed not only Oropher and his first-born but also Ithilloth's aunt, who was the prince's wife. They were childless.

Ithilloth is much older than Thranduil and is the Principal Councillor of the Realm. As eldest female of the House of Tawar, she is gifted in many magical arts. Unfortunately, she has borne only sons to Thranduil, and none of these gifts pass to males in the line. It was for this reason she agreed to the wedding of her younger sister, the Tawarwaith, with the King as soon as she came of age. So Ithilloth is Legolas' aunt. The birth of Legolas was not viewed as a good sign to Ithilloth, for without a female to carry on the line, their House must fall. Ithilloth is adept with paired long knives and combines her skill with spell casting when she fights. Yet, she does not consider it seemly for the Queen to go to battle often, and confines her contribution to major hunts only.  
 ****  
Calargyll  
(Lamp Bearer)  
2nd Wife  
House of the Butterfly

Brown hair and light green eyes, she is pleasant in disposition, funny, and always ready to celebrate. She is also very shrewd and an excellent judge of hearts. Thus, she is the Councillor of Law for the Realm; a hereditary position that was her mother's before her. Her Naneth sailed to the Undying lands after Calargyll's father died in the Last Alliance. Calargyll's marriage to the King is warranted by her position on the Council. She has given Thranduil three daughters, a fact that has raised a great deal of contention between herself and Ithilloth. It would be safe to say the two are friendly rivals and their power struggles provide the Realm with much drama.

Calargyll is close in age to Thranduil and is a Sinda on her father's side. She paints and weaves when she has free time but her position is extremely busy, for all petitions and complaints come before her prior to public hearing and decision. Calargyll loves to throw parties and now that her youngest has reached majority she tries to mother Legolas. Ithilloth discourages this, however, finding the Butterfly House unworthy to raise up the Tawarwaith. Calargyll hates weapons but is capable with a bow and not afraid to kill if need arises.

**Huneb'ell**  
(Joy Hearted)  
3rd Wife  
House of the Blue Dragon

Red haired with eyes of dark green, she is a veteran warrior who fought in the Last Alliance. There her mother perished and her first husband and a son also. She is suffering but refuses to give in to her grief, feeling it would allow Sauron a victory over her and her people. She is adamant about restoring the numbers of the Wood Elves to that prior to the end of the Second Age. Thus she agreed to marry again and accepted the King's proposal, which was actually made formally in Council by Ithilloth. She was and is of tremendous importance to her Realm, for her tactical ability and gift of intuitive strategizing have saved the remnant of the Wood Elves from falling to the darkness spreading over the Greenwood. She works closely with Thranduil and Sîrgell, and in this arena they accept her decisions without question, so true is her perception of the enemy's whereabouts and intentions, for she is Councillor of War and Defence.

Becoming a mother once more gave her both stronger reasons to live and also wounded her heart and soul, for she loved her first mate dearly and finds Thranduil a poor substitute, both as a warrior and a husband. She considers he is too softhearted, especially regarding his children. She cannot grant Galurem Lordship in her father's house, the Foxes, as would be normally done for a male child, for they consider him of very low rank even if he is a King's son. The Foxes are holdouts against the custom of polygamy, never having approved of the concept in the first place. Though none of the Foxes ever said it, both Huneb'ell's children are considered illegitimate among the clan members. She worries much for Galurem.  
 ****  
Corchrîn  
(Crowned Crow)  
4th Wife  
House of the Raven

Black haired and green eyed; this lively elleth is Thranduil's beloved. The two literally fell in love with each other when Corchrîn's horse was killed from under her during a spider hunt and she was thrown into the King's arms. They fought side by side and both knew by the end of the hunt that each had found their hearts' contentment. Thranduil courted her with all the solemnity and nervousness of an elf of 75 rather than the husband to three other females. Corchrîn did not care about them at all, and truthfully it was as though they did not exist. Those were nothing more than political alliances and expedients to restore stability to the population. Her union with Thranduil was for love and everyone knew this. Corchrîn and her offspring are the absolute pride and joy of the King. Then Legolas' mother was killed. After this, Thranduil took on care of the little one as much as possible on the advice of the healers, and has come to love the child far more than he had the mother.

Corchrîn holds no jealousy regarding this, however, and possibly loves Legolas just as much as if he was one of her own. Ithilloth, however, feels duty-bound to ensure the proper upbringing for the heir to her House's highest rank and honour. She does no allow any of the other wives much access to him unless it is during their private times with Thranduil. Corchrîn runs the household with assistance of Galion, the seneschal. Together they conspire to lighten Thranduil's work load and give him more time with Legolas and the Raven children, who are nearing majority and thus rather in need of extra attention, even if they fail to acknowledge this. Corchrîn is an accomplished archer and not bad with javelins, exceptionally good at hitting spiders with them. She loves to dance and sing.  
 ****  
Curóniel  
(Daughter of the Crescent Moon)  
5th Wife  
(deceased)  
House of Tawar

Golden haired and blue eyed, Curóniel was a vision of beauty second to none. Even Corchrîn with her dark exotic locks and pale skin could never compare to the angelic countenance of the Tawarwaith. Curóniel had known since childhood that she was to be the Tawarwaith but thought she would not have to take on the role so young. Usually the title and duties passed to the next in line only upon death of the predecessor after millennia had transpired. In fact, the numbers of these spiritual leaders recorded over the ages was small, with Curóniel being only the 11th Tawarwaith born to the Greenwood since the Nandor settled there before the rising of Anor and Ithil.

She was coaxed into marrying the King immediately upon her majority, for her mother had perished just five years earlier and the decisions regarding her fate fell to Ithilloth, her older sister and Sell Vinui of their House. She had no love for the King, but the two were friendly to each other and he was both very kind and deeply respectful of her, realising what an honour it was to join the power of his House to the Spiritual Leaders of the Greenwood for evermore. He treated her like a goddess and greeted the birth of their son joyously. Unexpectedly, she and Corchrîn became close friends and so her life in the stronghold was not unpleasant.

Curóniel was dedicated to her people and did all within her power to harness the protection of Tawar for the woods and its inhabitants. This extended beyond the elves to all living things of Eru's design under the eaves. She it was that welcomed the woodsmen to the central regions of the forest and though she was repeatedly voted down by the other Councillors and the King combined, often she petitioned to renew ties with the other elven realms to the west. Her loss so soon upon taking on her title was a terrible shock to all, and an unbearable hardship upon her little son, thrust into the position far too young and unprepared, struggling with his grief and despair.

Other elves in the story:

Galion: long-suffering seneschal to Oropher and now Thranduil, a Sinda elf from Beleriand.

Eirien: Galion's wife and nanny to the royal children, now responsible only for Legolas as the others have all but grown up. She is a Wood Elf of the House of the Fox and is an Elder, one who awakened at Cuiviénen.

There may be additional development of some of the extended family or the older siblings' love interests in future, but probably not in this story.

TBC

  
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	10. Chapter 10

##### Un-Beta'd from this point forward…    _Italics indicate thoughts._

### X. Hear, Fey Wood Elves, Harken to Me

  
"Fêrlass!"

With a clump and a clatter the willow wood chair keeled over. One of the bright blue mugs joined it, spilling its steaming, brown contents all over the polished granite floor, as Sîrgel [Running River] dashed from his place at table to avenge the youngest of Thranduil's offspring.

Up leaped the Tawarwaith in a burst of flying golden hair and racing legs as he sought to intercept his brother, upsetting the tall pitcher of water and knocking a plate from the table in his haste.

"Nay Sîr!" he shrieked and pounced at the elder prince's legs, grappling on to one strong thigh and wrapping both his slender arms around it, clinging like a cocklebur on a dog's tail. "Do not blame Fêrlass; [Beech-Leaf] it was the Yejquv [High Council]! Saes!"

"What? Tuiw!" [Sprout] shouted Sîrgel, staggering under the force of his baby brother's onslaught, skidding through the slick puddle. His arms pin-wheeled in a desperate attempt to regain his balance and remain vertical while the disgusting bowl of droppings-laced porridge shot from his grasp. The humble vessel sailed high into the space above him and whirled end over end, miraculously retaining its contents, tumbling gracefully through the air as it ascended toward the ceiling.

With a catastrophic crash the two princes fell to the ground in a disordered heap, each giving an abbreviated cry, one high and piping, the other deep and melodious, indicative of surprised complaint over the unexpected impact. Before they could even think of rising from the mess, the inexorable force of gravity overcame the momentum of the dish and halted it at the peak of its elegant arc. Upsidedown, of course. The bowl disgorged its cargo of tainted gruel all over Sîrgel, plummetted from its elevated position, bounced off his stomach, struck the floor nearby, and shattered into a multitude of fragments with a musically clamourous crescendo.

Dai Dínen began barking emphatically, dancing around her fallen masters, scolding them soundly for such horseplay in the small refectory, yet her long feathered tail vigourously swept the atmosphere in her vicinity. Her diminutive charge was unharmed, after all, and the elves were providing more amusement this morning than on any she could recall from recent memory. In fact, not since Annûnfaen had demonstrated her Automatic Hair Grooming Machine last summer (on her doting Ada) had the old hunter so enjoyed enforced retirement within the mountain halls.

Toloth and Cugu stared down in open mouthed amazement for a few seconds, for they had risen as soon as the little prince had tackled his brother, uncertain whether to give in to rising mirth or denounce the deplorable situation.

Fêrlass, having heard the commotion and his name, came back through the archway, for he had been lurking just beyond it to espy the result of the prank. He stood smirking over the Crowned Prince sprawled in the culinary wreckage; this was far better than hoped, for he had merely meant the elfling to go without his breakfast. Sîrgel's abasement was an unforeseen bonus for it was rather difficult to get the better of the elder member of Thranduil's brood.

"Oh, Sîr, I am sorry!" quavered the youngest prince, seeing his sibling liberally coated with the disgusting white goo, and then Legolas began to cry, certain he would be scolded for causing it. Besides, he had a pain in his knee and his arm felt sore, too. Between the healers and their over cautious coddling and his nanny's punishment, the Tawarwaith envisioned an entire cycle of Ithil spent indoors doing tasks and lessons.

Dai's display of puppyish jollity immediately dissolved, revealing a frenzied fusion of motherly menace in which she growled and flashed her long gleaming fangs at the older brothers one second then whined and nudged her distraught elf-pup the next.

The Noldor warriors hastened to comfort Legolas, Sîrgel tried to calm him, and Fêrlass lost his smug expression, replacing it with one of genuine worry for the little one's well being. He truly had no wish to see his baby brother suffer harm over the trick.

"Hush, Muindor dithen [little Brother], do not fret so," urged Sîrgel anxiously, feeling the child's arms and legs for breaks. "I am fine; nothing a bath will not cure."

"It is well, Ernil Vallen [Golden Prince], it is just a broken dish," said Cugu kindly, relieved to note that the heir's quick inspection revealed no injury to the youngling.

"Ai! Are you hurt, Tuiw?" Fêrlass crooned and bent down to peer into the wide, teary, indigo depths.

"I just wanted an apple," Legolas' lamented and Dai's bellowing voice tolled loudly in sympathy. Thus, Fêrlass failed to hear the vile curse that hissed through Sîrgel's lips ere he launched himself from the floor into his Raven brother's midsection, bearing him down into the growing quagmire of food, coffee, water, and gelatinous porridge.

"moH qa'rol veQ Sopwl! ghIqtal!" [Ugly garbage eating crow! To the death!]

"laM yoq! qachoHlah be'!" [Dirty human! I will change you into a woman!]

Cugu grabbed Legolas up in his arms and stepped nimbly away even as Sîrgel slammed his fist into Raven Dancer's chin. Toloth gracefully pirouetted beyond the reach of the wrestling brothers just quickly enough to dodge a ferocious kick from Fêrlass that missed Sîrgel's groin but connected soundly with his shin. The veterans of the Last Alliance retreated to a table further from the fray when a large glob of sticky gruel soared through the air, missing the elfling's head by mere centimetres.

The Senior Chef's form filled the doorway for an instant, a belligerant frown on her countenance but upon realising the cause of the disturbance her face took on an expression of wary dread and she fled back within the safety of her kitchen. This had all the indications of a sibling civil war and she had no desire to be forced into choosing sides.

"Should we stop them?" queried Toloth, shouting to be heard above the barking of the hound and the cursing and yelling of the woodland princes.

Sîrgel and Fêrlass rolled through the murky brown puddle, effectively sopping it up as their garments and hair absorbed the liquid, a writhing aglomeration of grasping arms and thrashing legs, straining and grunting to best one another. The Crowned Prince might be older and bulkier, but Raven Dancer was quick and clever.

"jegh, Qovpatlh Qa'Hom!" [Surrender, insignificant little animal!]

Sîrgel pinned the younger elf face down on the stone, one arm rigourously bent behind him, and pressed his knee into the small of Fêrlass' back.

"paghlogh!" [Never!]

Raven Dancer gave a fierce shout and executed an impressive reverse kick that planted his booted heel right into Sîrgel's temple. The older elf went down with a loud groan as Fêrlass straddled his legs and seized his wrists, pushing down hard to reduce his momentarily stunned brother's ability to retaliate.

"I know not," Cugu shrugged and turned his gaze to Legolas, perched securely upon his hip. The Noldo could not suppress a smile, for the little one had ceased his tears and was observing his battling brothers with tremendously round blue fascination, thumb between his lips and a handful of the Noldo's long black hair caught in his grimy hand. "What say you, Legolas? Is it best to separate them or allow the Houses of Hawk and Raven to settle their differences unimpeded?"

"Valar! At the very least, silence your dog, mellon!" pleaded Toloth. He plugged his offended ears with his index fingers, for Dai had decided to referee the match, snapping and nipping whenever a stray elbow or knee came within reach of her pearly teeth, then standing back to bay at the misbehaving siblings.

Legolas regarded each of the friendly soldiers gravely, transferred his sight to the hound, switched to the struggle on the floor and frowned. Both princes were covered in the remains of the breakfast, clumps of porridge adhering to matted hair, coffee and plum cake smeared across stained clothing. They were each collecting an unsettling number of cuts and contusions across their faces and both sported swollen bloody noses, yet neither was likely to relent until loss of consciousness forced defeat.

Sîrgel had regained his senses and freed one hand which was inexorably shoving Fêrlass' jaw heavenward. The oldest raven twin countered this by repeatedly punching his brother in the ear. From their baby brother's perspective, the princes were attempting to anihillate one another. Legolas removed his thumb from his mouth, inhaled a mighty breath, and shouted with considerable volume for so small an elf.

"mevyap! [Stop! Enough!] Dai Dínen, tiro!" [Dai Dínen, guard!]

Instantly the chaser's baying voice subsided and she assumed the eerie stance of dangerous vigilance the Noldor had experienced in person earlier that morn. Just as abruptly, both the older princes froze and turned their eyes first to the dog, then to their scowling little brother, and finally one another. With unspoken accord each relinquished his hold and they disengaged, rolling up to their feet and trading dark glares and low words.

"yIntagh." [stupid, spoiled idiot.]

"plaQta'." [piece of sh-.]

Legolas wriggled in Cugu's hold and the warrior set him on his feet. The youngster trotted over to his canine protector's side and flung an arm over the hunter's shoulders, gazing upon his brothers with a mixture of regret and remonstrance transforming his cherubic features.

"mevyap! qaDvam pItlh!" [Enough! This test of ability is done!]

Now the brothers stared at the elfling and his chaser, then at each other, then broke into giggles to hear him announce this imperious proclamation. Legolas was quite pleased to have made them grin and patted Dai Dínen in gratitude for her assistance. Before any of the siblings could move forward to real conciliation, however, the trio simultaneously stiffened, heads turning in unison toward the open doorway, and three identical gasps of horror fled from the brothers' throats.

A high pitched whine squeezed out of the old hunter's throat and she sat down atop her tail.

"Eru's arse!" cursed Fêrlass. "We are betrayed!"

"We should run!" whimpered Legolas.

"Too late," intoned Sîrgel and laid his hand on his baby brother's shoulder in a gesture meant both to impart courage and prevent its counterpart from inducing the child's flight.

"Now look what you have caused!" hissed Raven Dancer and flashed his piercing midnight orbs in Legolas' direction.

"Sorry!" murmured the elfling, the word so soft only one of the First-born could hear, and hung his head dejectedly. He did not understand how so much commotion could result from simply refusing his porridge. "I did not think it would matter to eat something else."

"Nay, it is not your fault, Tuiw, do not listen to him!" whispered Sîrgel and elbowed his Raven brother sharply in the ribs.

"Ai! I will repay you later!" Fêrlass answered in equally subdued wrath, rubbing his side. "It is fine to eat something else but not to reveal the reason why!" Raven Dancer scolded in hushed but highly aggrieved cadence.

Sîrgel evidently had much more he wished to say but stifled the urge when Dai gave another miserable whimper and dropped to the floor, chin upon her paws, brows wobbling in worry as her eyes shifted from Legolas to Sîr to the doorway and back.

The Noldor exchanged concerned sidelong glances and stared briefly at the empty portal before resuming their observation of the princes.

Thranduil's sons hastily arranged themselves in orderly fashion, ranked by age, and the bedraggled pair made futile attempts to wipe away blood and mush while rearranging tunics and pushing tangled tresses from their faces. All three straightened their spines and squared their shoulders, chins up and chests out, eyes trained on an indiscriminate spot on the far wall, and stood stock still at attention with military mien the elite troops of Glorfindel's reknowned fighting forces would have difficulty surpassing.

Seconds sped by and the brothers did not so much as twitch a fingertip; scarcely drawing breath in their efforts to remain absolutely motionless, awaiting their doom. From the expressions of stalwart resignation plastered over their fair features, the elves looked as if they were facing death at the hands of bloodthirsty Orcs, determined to meet it bravely and with honour.

The Noldor warriors again traded puzzled eye contact and once more favoured the empty doorway with their regard. Toloth coughed.

"What is…" he began, the words more a movement of lips and tongue than speech.

"Shh!" Legolas momentarily broke his cool reserve to admonish the visitor, darting eyes replete with exasperated entreaty, and then returned to his imitation of sculpted statuary.

"But who…" Cugu tried next and three pairs of aggravated, anxious orbs bore into his, ordering silence, then flickered away to concentrate on the bare wall. He complied, a distinct sense of foreboding crawling along under the skin of his back, fearful of what sort of taskmaster was approaching.

_Thranduil? The Silver Queen? Mayhap the fearsome matron-chief of Nost Amlug Elu? [the House of the Pale Blue Dragon]_  Cugu stole a look at his mate and knew the same speculations crowded Toloth's thoughts also. Unconsciously both old soldiers drew their deportment into line with their youthful hosts, proud and severe enough to pass inspection by Gil-Galad himself.

Then the Noldo heard what the Wood Elves' hypersensitive hearing had detected: soft measured footfalls propelling someone down the corridor. These sound were too faint to be made by the mighty elven King, too short in span to belong to Huneb'ell the indomitable dragon wife, and not rapid enough to be caused by the efficient celerity of Ithiloth. Now all six occupants (including Dai Dínen) of the morning room held their breaths in anticipation.

The footsteps ceased just beyond the portal and Cugu dared to look. All the air gushed from his lungs in amazement as he gaped at the figure standing on the threshold. It was so far from the dire form he had expected that he almost laughed aloud as he traded amused relief with Toloth. There in the hall stood the smallest elleth the old warrior had ever beheld, solemnly documenting every detail of the disordered room and the princes' deshabille, presenting an absolutely inscrutable expression upon her wise, diminutive visage.

She was no taller than a hobbit and was as delicate as a hummingbird, with flowing white hair that trailed almost to her ankles. She wore it bound back in warrior's braids and still it reached this august length for never had she willingly let a blade shear its ends. Attractive and unlined were her features yet shadowed grey eyes revealed her to be an ancient nonetheless; much of the silvans' history had she witnessed with them over the Ages that had passed.

It was Eirien, of course, nanny to all of Thranduil's brood and a Teleri who had awakened at Cuivienen.

Her garments were simple and unadorned but refined in cut and style, made of the finest woven wool. The high collared dress was a delightful shade of pink and over it was bound a pinafore of deep indigo. From below the mid-calf hem of the skirt, Eirien's legs were encased in cream-coloured hose and upon her feet were leather slippers died black as coal. Minute hands were clasped before her and about the child-sized left wrist was a loose mithril chain upon which hung a set of keys in vastly different sizes. A plain gold band on the index finger of her right hand proclaimed her bound in marriage.

The nanny was smiling but, though her crimson lips upturned in a pleasing manner, her cool slate eyes shared her disappointment and chagrin to see her charges in such a low estate. She pressed her palms together, hands steepled before her chest and bowed, much as Legolas had done in his greeting to the visitors, and when she came upright she slowly shook her head and lowered her lashes as if in shame. All three princes visibly trembled at this and Cugu felt his pulse jump as his gaze ricocheted between this fragile seeming inu and the miscreants.

She did not speak, instead favouring each brother with a long, accusingly sorrowful stare.

Finally, Legolas broke.

"Saes, Eirien, it was all my fault," he mourned and burst into tears, flinging his small body into her ready arms as he buried his face against her chest. "Do not punish Sîr and Fêr, please! I will clean everything up; and there is no need to tell Ada about it!"

He was sobbing most pitifully and she gently rubbed his shoulder to calm him and then lifted his dripping chin to gaze into his wet, fearful eyes, yet no words passed her lips.

"Nay, it is not so," insisted Sîrgel. "I am eldest and I am responsible, for I was the one watching over Tuiw this morn." He drew a sharp breath as her penetrating gaze locked with his and the Crown Prince swallowed.

Eirien had nothing to say.

"Ah, that is noble but unnecessary, Sîr. I am old enough to answer for my deeds. Eirien, the little one had no part in this and Sîrgel was merely trying to protect Legolas. It was just a…" Raven Dancer's speech cut off instantaneously as the long-lived elleth's concentrated scrutiny plumbed his psyche to its core. The future Lord of the Raven clan struggled to contain a minute, pathetic bleat from getting past his lips and failed.

Still the dainty lady remained quiet.

"Hiril Einior, [Lady Elder] it is surely not so grave an error. It is but one broken bowl!" announced Toloth in exasperation and suddenly froze under the chillingly incisive soul-scrutiny that swept away all ability to think rationally.

"Toloth?" Cugu muttered in fright, passing his hand in front of his mate's eyes to part them from the wily elleth's enchanting stare. Then he felt Eirien's vision rest upon him like a tangible weight and he gasped, turning to merge his sight and hers, enthralled as she peered into his heart and discovered all his secrets.

With a small sigh the nanny favoured each prince with her fearsome, probing observation a final time and then released them from her mesmerising interrogation. Eirien smiled as she gathered Legolas close to her heart for a long squeeze before holding him out at arm's reach and tendering a more kindly examination over his worried features.

"Brannon Glad [Woods Lord] I will say nothing to Aran Thranduil for that is your duty. I know you never lie to your Ada." Her voice was soft and musical like the tinkling of tiny crystal wind chimes hung upon the branches to resound the song of Manwë as he passed amid the trees.

"No, Eirien, not ever! That is what I tried to tell Glamor [Echo] and Lothanor!" [Sunflower] the elfling insisted and added an emphatic shake of his head.

Next to him Fêrlass groaned and Sîrgel silenced him with another elbow jab.

"I believe you, for never have you been untruthful to me either," Eirien shot the older brothers a cold glare as she patted her charge's back. "Now, did you not promise our honoured guests a tour of the stronghold grounds this day? Do not delay any longer lest these Noldor ponder your brothers' example and conclude that we are rude and uncultured. Go to the kitchens and have Gelir [Merry (one of the cooks)] gather up a fitting repast for an outdoor excursion. When you return, Cugu and Toloth will be ready for the adventure."

"Hannaden, Eirien!" [My Thanks, Eirien] Legolas exclaimed and, with another hug for his nanny and a quick backward glance to share his jubilation with his new friends, raced from the refectory, calling for Gelir as he went, Dai Dínen scrambling after.

Once he was gone the venerable nanny straightened to her full height of one-and-one-quarter metres and the warmth receded from the small chamber.

"As for you two, it is long past your days of infancy and I am displeased with such childish behaviour. I am not, however, surprised. See to it that bedlam does not deteriorate into pandemonium. There is an important issue of diplomacy under discussion in Aran Thranduil's Halls."

"Aye, Hiril Einior, gohenna nin," [Aye, Lady Elder, forgive me] the Hawk and the Raven murmured as they bowed.

Eirien cocked a commanding eye at the chastised princes that startled them into action. Fêrlass retrieved a bucket and mop while Sîrgel brought the broom and dustbin. They were busily cleaning and scrubbing before a minute had passed. That left only the Noldor to face the indomitable seer. She gave them her friendly smile and gestured toward the herb garden beyond the open wall, preceding them into the sunlight.

"I do not approve of male union, but customs are different in foreign lands; it is not my place to judge. Yet I am Legolas' guardian and so my counsel you will heed," her melodious voice was incongruously daunting and held the weight of ancient law within its dulcet timbre.

"I understand, Hiril Einior," [Lady Elder] spoke Cugu and bowed politely. "We will not speak of our bond with the princeling."

"Aye, he is much to young to comprehend such matters. In any case, the nature of desire is something he should discuss with his Adar and not strangers," added Toloth.

"Then I am satisfied. I thank you for the kindness you have shown our Tawarwaith. His burden is great and any diversion from his grief is welcome. It is long since he has anticipated an outing with so much joy," she said with genuine gratitude and her smile was as if Estë had bestowed a gentle blessing over the visiting warriors. "And make certain to bolt your chamber door for the remainder of your stay." With that final reproof, the august soul-reader daintily dipped her head in farewell and departed, heading out through the flower beds. They lost sight of her amid the towering sunflowers.

"Ulmo's balls, she knows everything now!" grumbled Fêrlass as soon as he was certain of her exit. "She will inform Hîren Adar and our punishments will be doubled at the very least!"

"Aye, and that is your doing, torog rein," [troll droppings] Sîrgel rejoined. "Why did you have to pull such a contemptible prank? What if Tuiw got sick from that vile mush?"

"Valar! Tuiw would never have eaten it, alhand nârael. [stupid swamp rat] He knew at once the porridge was altered. He would only have missed the morning meal, nothing more, and I brought him some plums and a slice of cheese to hold him until luncheon." By way of proof Raven Dancer retrieved the squashed hunk of fruit and congealed whey from his apron pocket, taking up his brother's hand so as to land the oozing mass in Sîrgel's palm.

"Ugh!" grunted the Crowned Prince and flung the disgusting conglomeration back at Fêrlass' face, who ducked. The ruined snack landed on the just washed floor with a weighty splat. "Clean it up!" commanded Sîrgel, pointing.

"You threw it there; mop the floor yourself!" countered Fêrlass, tossing the handle of the implement at his brother and kicking the bucket across the floor toward him. A large wave of dirty water sloshed out and painted the granite with another grimy puddle.

A stentorian thwack rang through the room as Sîrgel parried the mop with his broomstick, whirling the sopping strands back around right under the Raven twin's nose.

"And how is it Yejquv [High Council] met without me? No rules can be passed without my vote!" the Crowned Prince snarled, wielding the broom like a staff.

Fêrlass snatched the mop's wooden dowel before it clattered to the floor and matched his brother's fighting stance, heedless of the dripping strings that rained upon his shoes.

"You were off courting with Tulus, [Poplar] muindor, and the issue could not wait. It is not our fault that you shirked your duty as qup'a'! [eldest]

The two were on the verge of descending into combat again when Legolas staggered unsteadily back into the room with the straps of a stuffed pack draped over his straining arms.

"Daro!" both the older siblings yelled in unison, not wishing for Legolas to slip on the slick stone and attract Eirien with a fresh round of tears.

Legolas jumped and froze in mid-step, staring from one to the other in dread.

"Are you angry with me? I did not want her to find out, truly!" he pleaded, all his happiness over the promised outing vanishing under the pall of his siblings' displeasure.

"Nay, Tuiw, we are not upset with you. Much." groused Fêrlass. "But the matter of betraying the Avari Yejquv [Avari High Council] still needs to be resolved."

"But Fêr, I did not mean to!" cried the elfling, close to tears again.

"And I cannot believe Eirien is not only refusing to add to your punishment but actually lifting the one imposed before!" Fêrlass thundered.

"But I did not do anything!" railed the Tawarwaith. "Lothanor is the one who should be punished; she made up the rules."

"Hush now, Legolas!" pleaded Sîrgel nervously, glancing at the doorway, and picked his brother up to carry him beyond the spill. "We know that. Do not worry over it; we will resolve it later."

"Is everything all right?" asked Cugu, striding back inside upon hearing the Golden Prince's despairing words. He glared at the elder sons of Thranduil disapprovingly. He could not fathom their bizarre mixture of alien and Sindarin speech nor determine how the silvans' discussion had anything to do with tainted porridge, though the nanny must have learned enough. The older two wanted to lay the burden for the mishap on the little one, however, and this he would not condone.

"Aye, it is well, mellon," assured Greenwood's heir. He set the baby of the family down and took the pack, passing it to the Noldo. "We will take care of everything in here; go and enjoy the day with Legolas."

The warrior let his discontented appraisal linger a minute longer before an impatient tug on his hand alerted him to Legolas' eagerness to get outside. Cugu smiled down at the Tawawaith as the elfling led him into the sunshine, meeting with Toloth just beside a small wooden structure that proved to be a rabbit warren. As Legolas chattered happily, introducing them to the fluffy hares as though they were pets instead of dinner components, the Noldor exchanged silent astonishment over the nanny's mind-reading gift.

"Ernil Vallen, [Golden Prince] how came Eirien to be your nanny?" asked Toloth, interrupting the child's ongoing explanation of each rabbit's personality.

"I know not; Eirien has always been the nanny," Legolas shrugged.

"Not easy to fool such a one. Does she always read hearts without asking first? I was not ready for that," complained Cugu to his small host.

"Ask? Should she do that? It is just something that happens, like looking with her eyes. If you are there, she will see you, except Ada says she sees with her soul." Legolas gazed up with worried eyes. "Is it impolite? She would not wish to be rude!"

"Nevermind, pen neth, it was just a surprise. We have only met a seer once before," reassurred Cugu and patted his shoulder. "Tell me, does Eirein ever meet with your Ada's councils? Does she meet all foreigners that venture to the Greenwood?"

"I do not think so," Legolas' brow wrinkled up, for he could not remember any visitors to the stronghold besides the Noldor.

"He is too young to answer such a question!" scoffed Toloth and swatted his mate on the arm. "And the whole reason we are here is because no elves have come to Greenwood since the last Age ended."

_Not even Galadriel could get as much out of me in a month's worth of attempts._  Toloth thought.  _Celebrian would have welcomed such a governess when the twins were younglings._  His mate's expression revealed concurrence.

The pair dearly hoped to find Erestor and warn him before he ran into the deceptively delicate nanny.

TBC

  
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	11. Chapter 11

##### Un-Beta'd from this point on.    _Italics indicate thoughts._

### XI. Climb Down from your Cedar Tree

  


>  **Note: This is for you, Jasta! Thank you for your kind words and encouragement to go on with this tale.**

  
Now among the First-born, the concept of 'patience' was non-existent and indeed there was no word in either ancient Nandorin, Noldorin, formal Quenya, everyday Sindarin, or any of the various silvan dialects that had any sort of similar meaning to the term used among mortals. For beings created to live so long as to be considered undying by the rest of Eru's (and Aulë's) children, the idea of schooling one's temperament to wait calmly for the outcome or result of some undertaking was inconceivable. Even time as an idea had a rather nondescript sort of function; what did it matter to divide a single day among hundreds of thousands into segments? Why bother to even count days, weeks, or years? Well, perhaps for growing elflings years would be documented.

Yet overall, elves would consider counting stars and studying their habits as they moved amid the heavens a more useful exercise than reckoning the time required to pursue it. And since this notion of time was so insignificant, spending it extravagantly in order to achieve a desired goal would never generate attention much less frustration. Such was the nature of the elves and not a virtue needing to be cultivated, thus defining a qualty they innately possessed never occurred to them.

In fact, so much was patience an essential element of an elf's disposition that the word for 'league' in Numenorean, and hence in everyday Westron, was 'lár', originally a Quenya word meaning 'pause'. This usage presumably came about because in human terms when an elf paused to consider something, the least amount of time one would wait for them to complete the contemplation was akin to the time required to walk one league, uphill, burdened with a heavy pack. It was not an inconsequential amount of minutes by mortal standards and generally tended to produce exasperated impatience among the Second-born.

It must have required of the elves significant mental adjustments to comprehend that this difference in perception was a source of aggravation for humans. No doubt upon encountering men for the first time, the First-born were rather surprised by the extreme hurrying about the mortals seemed compelled to undertake, no matter the chore. Even enjoyable activities were rushed through, from the perspective of the moriquendi, and thus new words were incorporated into the various elvish dialects. The Sindarin terms 'celeg ben' (hasty one), 'lagor geredir' (quick doer), and 'alnauth' (thoughtless) were often applied to humans and their antics with varying mixtures of consternation, amusement, and irritation. Thus, a high compliment from an elf to a human would be to call him or her 'nauth annan' (long thought).

Attributing the same description to another elf, however, had exactly the opposite effect, being an insult implying the trait was so rarely observed that it earned remark, hence indicating the person lacked Bauth Vaer (Good Judgement). It was a rather serious charge and was usually only exchanged between members of Houses long at odds with one another, generally over the exact definition of that particular virtue and the other family's failure to exhibit it under various circumstances. Throughout the long Ages of the Greenwood's occupation by the various clans among the Teleri, this sort of contention was not unknown or even uncommon. This Erestor had occasion to learn as he waited (neither patiently nor impatiently, as explained above) in the Chamber of Starlight for the call to meeting, that he might present the White Council's suggested policy toward reconciling the Woodland Realm with the rest of elvendom.

The noble seneschal to Elrond's court quietly studied the sculpted columns and the artistic friezes upon the stone walls about the room. He had noted these upon his arrival the previous evening, yet looked upon them only briefly before being escorted away to his chambers. Thereafter he had ignored them due to involvement in the highly boisterous festivities celebrating the success of the hunt. Now he scrupulously observed every detail, beginning with the battle scene of Dagorlad and working forward in time. He decided that earlier events among the silvans would have little impact upon or relation to the lives of the Noldor.

He was presently viewing the history catalogued on the fifth column from the Last Alliance depiction. He was alarmed, confused, and fascinated all at once, for he was certain the scenes illustrated some great troubles in the Woodland Realm and a severe contention among the Sindarin and silvan Houses alike. If he was correct in his interpretation, then fully a third of the population decamped from the Greenwood, departing on the long journey to the shores of Eldamar. The host consisted of an even mix of Nandor and Grey Elves of both noble and common origins from every walk of life and occupation. No House was exempt from the exodus, though some were clearly more strongly represented than others. The implications were startling to say the least. So rapt in his considerations was Erestor that he failed to hear the entrance of the Councillor of Law, the Principal Councillor, and the Councillor of War and Defence.

"I see you are learning of one of the saddest days in our past," said Ithiloth quietly.

Erestor jumped about six centimetres as he wheeled around, finding himself face to face with three of Thranduil's wives: the Silver Queen, the formidable Dragon matron, and the shrewd Light bearer. For a moment he was speechless, uncertain how to graciously acknowledge such a serious topic so as to encourage its further exploration.

"Aye, noble Queen," he began and gave a courteous nod of his head. "This pillar seems to tell of a split amid the peoples of the Greenwood shortly after the Last Alliance. I would be pleased if you might be moved to explain it to me as I await the call to counsel with your good King and husband." The seneschal was rather taken aback when all three females tittered with mirth at his polite words.

"Oh, please forgive us, Lord Erestor," implored Calargyll, seeing his confused umbrage. "We do not mean to belittle your courteous request."

"Aye, it is your confusion regarding this council you are looking forward to that instigates our gleeful mood at your expense," added Huneb'ell. "Customs are different amid our separate lands. The King has no authority to take counsel with you regarding matters of diplomacy and the good of the Woodland Realm."

"Indeed, Thranduil will neither approve or deny any decrees or motions, sanctions or treaties, laws or pardons unless we formally request it. Then he may declare the matter justified and right or denounce it entirely. If the latter, we start over and attempt a new compromise with the parties involved in the particular situation. We three are the Greenwood's legislative body," concluded Ithiloth serenely, grinning at the Noldo's open-mouthed amazement. "I am Principal Councillor."

"I am Councillor of War and Defence," added Huneb'ell.

"My duty is to serve as Councillor of Law," Calargyll explained. "We are here to learn of the dire need that has driven the dùnedhel (elves of the west - Sindar and Noldor) to seek out the silvan folk once more. As you have just observed, the last time we joined our fate with that of outlanders, the consequences were most severe. You must convince us of the justification for this disruption of our world if we are to carry your concerns before the representatives of the leading Houses and our King."

"It is true; I am dumbfounded, Hiril (Ladies), to learn of this custom. Yet I bow to the wisdom that has appointed such labours to so virtuous a trio of bethyr (judges)." Erestor actually did make a formal bend at the waist to the wives. He had not imagined he would be conversing on such serious matters with the females for in Imladris, and all the other elven realms, males held the positions of authority in governance.  _Although Galadriel conducts herself in a most autocratic manner._ He was fairly sure the Woodland Realm had adhered to similar methods when Gil-Galad had called for Oropher's aid at the end of the Second Age.

He rightly guessed his surprise would be tolerated without offence being taken, for truly he did not feel the noble Ladies were incapable of such a venture. Indeed, having seen the Silver Queen, and numerous feminine warriors, engaged in deadly combat, exhibiting a magical power he had never imagined the First-born might possess, not to mention all the other examples of uniquely silvan characteristics, Erestor was rather more disappointed in himself for not expecting something of this sort.

"Perhaps a more complete explanation of this particular panel would enhance our meeting," suggested Huneb'ell, gesturing toward the decorated column. "Our concerns might be better appreciated if the desperation of our struggle is clearly understood by our worthy guest and emissary from Imladris."

"I would welcome that, Hiril," the noble advisor encouraged.

"Then we must start at the end of the Last Age. Less than half the Greenwood's warriors returned home from Dagorlad and more people were lost to grief because of it. Our homeland was vulnerable and if not for the destruction of Sauron we might have been overrun and obliterated. Thankfully, the end of the Dark One threw his cohorts into confusion and panic. They fled in disarray, no longer a cohesive fighting force, and we were left in peace for a time." Ithiloth began the narration.

"Yet we faced a different threat to our existence, an unexpected one. Though our warriors are comprised of both genders, still more ellyn (male elves) than ellith (female elves) joined the guard in those days. Females preferred to remain with their young until the age of majority and chose to render the more peaceful forms of service to the community at large. The role of ellith as life-bearers has always been one of high esteem and honour among our people, a status cherished and encouraged as the essential means of perpetuating our kind. Thus, most of the fallen warriors were ellyn and at the beginning of the Third Age, our females greatly outnumbered the remaining males." Calargyll continued.

"And most ellith not in the guard were already bound to life-mates and were made widows by the war, forced to contend against fading in order to keep what was left of their Houses intact. It was a precarious situation and Thranduil was at a loss as to how to prevent the utter destruction of our world. Drastic measures were undertaken to thwart such a catastrophe. Not everyone among the Greenwood was able to sanction these changes, on moral grounds." Huneb'ell rendered this part in obvious pain over her memories of those days.

"Aye, Huneb'ell speaks truly. We reverted to the ways of our ancestors, with the females of the oldest Houses assuming governance of the realm. Thranduil's indecision at this crucial moment was viewed unfavourably by those who had always resented the Sindarin presence and usurpation of authority.

"Yet he was bowed low in his grief, for at Dagorlad he had lost all of his Sindarin family members still remaining in Middle-earth. It was not surprising, his retreat from current affairs, and I feared he would follow his kin to Mandos. Still decisive action had to be taken; our people could not wait for his recovery, so questionable at that time, and it is not unreasonable to feel that those who create life from their blood and bone might be fiercely diligent in the protection of that progeny." Ithiloth reached out her hand to gently take Huneb'ell's as she spoke.

"Nay, it is indeed a wise concept," agreed Erestor, intrigued by the story. He was not unmindful that the governing triad also happened to be of purely silvan bloodlines but decided it best not to comment on the shift of power away from the formerly dominant minority of Sindarin elves. "Was this change in the manner of rule the cause for the schism?"

"No, that was acceptable to our people, though the Sindar of pure blood grumbled against it somewhat," Calargyll explained. "It is a different custom that caused the division. So strong were feelings regarding this ancient way that we nearly came to bloodshed over it."

"Indeed, but for my first-born there may have been a fourth kinslaying. Tuamdir (Strong Hope) was wise beyond his years and opined that those unable to abide by the ancient precepts might go and seek the shores of Eldamar. He proposed to lead any who wished to do so, along with sufficient warriors to safeguard the journey," Ithiloth was saying.

"Your first-born?" Erestor was confused. "Sîrgel is surely not that old, and in any case he is here in the stronghold."

"Sîrgel is not my first-born," corrected the noble Lady sadly, "nor are Orgilion and Menelfân our only other children. Tuamdir is our eldest. Far beyond his elfling days is he now and was then. He is a strong and compassionate leader, wiser even than many an ancient awakened at Cuirviénen. Tuamdir is dear to our hearts and for many long centuries was our only offspring. He led the host you see out from beneath the eaves of the forest on the first day of spring in the year 275 of the Third Age. Here he is; see how he favours my lineage? We have not seen him since that day."

In silence, for he was too astonished to make any response, Erestor examined the face and form of the elf the Silver Queen indicated. He was indeed noble in bearing and showed clearly his silvan heritage, being of lesser stature than the Sindar in the same frieze, yet with a strength of purpose that crowned his fair brow more regally than any circlet of mithril might. Ithiloth's fingers lovingly touched the sculpted image and she gave a short sigh.

"Many messages returned to us throughout the long trek across Eriador and Arnor. We know our kinfolk made it safely to Mithlond with only minor mishaps. We learned that their last ship sailed for Aman on the second day of Cerveth (July) in the year 278. Thus, the Noldor and Sindar are not the only people to have holdings in both Arda and the Undying Lands," added Calargyll with a smile.

"I am amazed!" exclaimed Erestor. "None have ever heard of this in Imladris. How is it this remained a secret, for we have regular couriers to Mithlond and some from the Hidden Vale yet seek the Straight Path across the Sundering Seas."

"Have we not made it plain that Tuamdir was clever?" scolded Huneb'ell in irritation. "He would not send so great a number into the lands of Mithlond altogether and unannounced. He had not enough soldiers to ward off a consolidated attack from Orcs or roaming human scum. Thus, their progress was slow and stealthy and moved in waves across the western lands. The host entire finally camped near Evendim and during the course of the following year he escorted small groups over the Blue Mountains to the Havens. No one took note of a handful of Wood Elves and Sindar leaving Middle-earth from time to time."

"Except Círdan, of course, and Tuamdir took him into confidence straight away. The elder Teleri Lord pledged to keep our secret, for if the news spread that Greenwood had lost even more of her warriors, the scattered legions of the Nazgûl would converge upon us and do their utmost to destroy us. As for withholding the news from the other elven enclaves, well I suppose it was pride more than any other factor. We did not wish to appear weak, a people so divided in spirit that we were forced to physically separate in order to maintain peace." Ithiloth concluded as she gave Thranduil's Third Wife a disapproving frown for taking such an insolent tone.

"I am saddened that such a measure was necessary," Erestor said politely. "Yet I am still unacquainted with the cause for so severe a reaction among your people."

"It is simple enough to understand," Huneb'ell could not keep the bitterness from her voice, for among the wives the changes had been hardest for her to bear. "The Wood Elves adopted the ways of bonding common among the Teleri at the time of awakening. In those early years, the numbers of elfkind were small. To enhance the population, multiple bondings were the norm.

"One male would have numerous wives so as to produce more children. Likewise, one female might bond with two or more males to produce offspring merged from many bloodlines. As it was then, heredity and family affiliation is determined by the mother's Lineage rather than the father's. With our people reduced and the ratio of male to female skewed, Ithiloth recommended, and the Tawarwaith concurred, that the practice be reinstated after the devastation at Dagorlad."

"I see," Erestor understood much more about the unusual culture of the Wood Elves now and could not even find good cause to dispute the reasons for such an uncommon procedure. "And being the King, Thranduil must lead by example?" Erestor was not entirely clear on Thranduil's role as Greenwood's monarch, as it no longer included the making of vital decisions.

"Aye, although I chose the others for him, except for Corchrîn. That was a match of souls fated by the Valar," nodded Ithiloth, smiling indulgently. The others' expressions matched hers, even stoic Huneb'ell.

"Then this type of marital arrangement is common among the populace at large also?" Erestor was still curious.

"For the most part. A pair of wives to one husband is the most often seen grouping, though sometimes one female may have two husbands. Yet acceptance is not universal. I am saddened to admit that there are one or two Houses that refuse to recognise the multiple unions. This dissension is a constant source of pain among our people, but we cannot fault those who wish to adhere to the single bond tradition. What harms us as a culture is the scorn those Houses display for the children of the many-bonded parents. They are considered illegitimate and sons are denied Lordship in their maternal grandfathers' Houses," Calargyll laid a supportive hand on Huneb'ell's shoulder as she explained.

"That is the reason for the great migration," said Huneb'ell with evident sorrow. "A movement was started by the Fox clan, my Adar's people, to overthrow the bonds of the additional mates, honouring only the First Wife's rights and acknowledging her offspring alone as heirs and legitimate children.

"Many among the Raven clan agreed, and these two Houses are quite powerful. They were able to convince a significant portion of the population to accept this negative view. In the winter of 275, all of this controversy came to a head. The Chief Lord of the Foxes, my uncle Megoranc (Sharp-toothed), demanded Thranduil's abdication if he would not set aside his other wives. Of which I was one even then."

"Not only did Thranduil refuse, he ordered those holding out against the rule to conform and take second wives, especially those who had lost their mates in battle and were widowed. This incensed the Lords of the opposing clans," said Ithiloth. "I counselled against such an outburst but my husband has always been hot-headed. His tongue will shout out what he feels in his heart without waiting for his reason to intervene."

"That is when Tuamdir stepped in to mediate. Once tempers had calmed, all agreed that such contention was unacceptable and no one wanted the innocent to suffer unduly. Thus, the exodus was planned," finished Calargyll.

"I know not what words to say," murmured Erestor, still not entirely comfortable with the multi-matings himself. Besides, there was a nagging inconsistency he could not shake regarding the length of time between the schism and the births of Thranduil's second set of children. While he hated to stir more painful memories, this point must be cleared up if he would report on the Woodland folk accurately.  _Yet to be honest, it is my own inquisitive mind that seeks to be satisfied._  "Hiril Istui (Learned Ladies), I confess my confusion has not been cancelled. If it is not indelicate to ask, why did Thranduil wait so long a time between the migration and the creation of new children?"

"We did not wait." Huneb'ell said concisely and coldly. "I have also a daughter in Aman, a child of Thranduil. She was bonded and took with her a husband and my two grand-daughters, both of whom were also wives and retreated with their husbands and a son each. That was in 2951."

"Aye, there was a resurgence of the old argument, a call to return to the way of 'decency and honour' as a means to palliate the wrath of the Valar, which the Foxes contend is justified and evinced by the reoccupation of Dol Guldur by the Nazgûl," appended Ithiloth. "Another son I lost then, too. Tharaeglir (Across the Mountain) led the migration that time."

"For Thranduil not only refused the Fox Lords' demands, he took to wife Corchrîn and soon after also wed Cùroniel," concluded Calargyll. "Our first daughter, Indomiren (Jewel of my Heart), departed with her mate, a member of Nost Lhûg-vorn (House of the Black Boa), a daughter, and one grandson with his wife also. I still have a granddaughter and her family here, however, and that cheers me greatly."

"Verily, I am at a loss for words," stammered Erestor. "I grieve for your severed families."

At this, Huneb'ell bowed her head in recognition but Calargyll shook hers emphatically.

"Nay, it is not like that. Our exiled children and kin are not in Námo's Keeping. We will be reunited when we finally journey to Aman, even as you will see your relatives there someday, Lord Erestor. Do you spend your days in sorrow while that time is yet come to pass?" queried the Councillor of Law.

"Truly, Hiril Calargyll, you are right. Many are the kin I will meet in Aman, and I do not shed tears over it but await it with anticipation. Please forgive me if I have offended," Erestor amended quickly.

"No insult was intended and I accept your condolences, even if the other wives do not see it as do I," interrupted Huneb'ell. "For me, it is indeed a great hardship both to be parted from my children and estranged from my kinfolk here in Greenwood. The Foxes have never relented and continue to foment discord over this issue even now. My youngest son and daughter are shunned by their grandfather and their cousins, suffering much ridicule from the other families still adamant about the corruption inherent in multiple bonds."

"Huneb'ell's situation is what prompted us to alter our custom once more. After observing a period of mourning following the second exodus, we held council and came to a mutual decision. As you have noted, each of us now has several children. Thus, should another time of division arrive, we will not be forced to relinquish everyone close to our hearts for the good of the realm. Some of our children must go, should the controversy flare up anew, but some will remain and we will see our grandchildren grow to maturity, producing offspring of their own." Ithiloth concluded Erestor's instruction.

There was silence for a short time as all four considered the revelations. Then Huneb'ell moved the meeting forward abruptly.

"Thus you may understand our reluctance to become involved in the affairs of outlanders. Not only are we suspicious of the hurt our people will take, we are unwilling to subject our culture to scorn for the strategy we were forced to enact to preserve our very existence. Being ostracised by one's own folk is harsh enough; from others we will not countenance it. For this reason we keep to ourselves, never venturing far from our trees."

"I do comprehend your just concerns," averred Erestor. "Yet I can say that while many will be surprised to learn of the customs here, none will disparage the silvans for them once the reasons are clearly stated. I assure you that I will personally see to it this is made completely plain and that a respectful attitude is presented to any emissaries sent beyond your borders."

"That is a rather large promise to make. How shall that be possible, for if many among our own kin will not condone these laws, how shall strangers understand and accept them?" Ithiloth pointed out.

"True, yet the majority will not be more than curious, as I was. You did not hesitate to reveal these things to me," Erestor replied.

"You are one elf, a warrior and statesman of high integrity. Should we ask you never to speak of what you have learned, we expect your sense of honour would demand respecting our wish," Huneb'ell countered. "Yet once the story is told, we can not control, nor can you, how other folk will react. Mayhap the Noldor, the Falathrim (elves of the coast, applied to those dwelling in Mithlond regardless of heritage) and the Galadhrim would find the habit unacceptable and regret this diplomacy."

"Even if that is so, not all would think thus. What harm can the mere opinions of a few narrow-minded elves be to the woodland folk? Are the silvans so easily swayed by the prejudices of outlanders?" Erestor pressed.

The three ladies were quiet a time, considering this, and then the Principal Councillor spoke.

"We silvans are not easily turned from our course, that is true, but that is perhaps not exactly the germ of our concern. So that is the nature of this request you bring? An exchange of ambassadors?" queried Ithiloth.

"In a manner of speaking, yes. It is more involved, however, and what the White Council proposes is a fostering between the ruling Houses of every elven realm. Each shall send their offspring to spend a set period of service in the others' lands," Erestor broached the gist of the plan straight away.

"To what purpose?" demanded Huneb'ell. "Have I not already expressed the dread of exacerbating the contention over our customs? How shall it be that I must abide a separation from my children and force them to endure censure from outlanders during their time of service? Or worse, mayhap they will heed the influence of foreign ways and return home supporting the views of other folk. Shall I then hear them scorn the estate of their mother?"

"Peace, Hervess Nelui (Third Wife)," cautioned Ithiloth. "Erestor is not advising that our children will be taught to uphold the ways of our sundered neighbours among the First-born."

"Certainly not!" he exclaimed. "That is directly opposed to the purpose of this mission. It is the wish of the White Council to promote accord and united feeling, a high degree of respect and loyalty among the various elven folk. We deem the times are darkening quickly, and it will behove us all to establish such ties ere the crisis is upon us."

"I am not against the idea, though I am wary of sending my young ones away from my side," admitted Calargyll. "The reasoning of the Council of the Wise is not without merit; we have been beset by the evil of Dol Guldur for many centuries now. If that is not an indicator of the accumulating power of the Shadow then there is none one may show. Yet for how long would the fostering be?"

"That is to be determined, once the initial request is accepted," answered Erestor. "Are you in agreement over the plan?"

"Nay, I am not. You must expound upon the benefits this exchange will produce, for the Wood Elves have no need of aid from outsiders," argued Huneb'ell. "We keep the Darkness at bay without rings of power, depending on wit, courage, and the superiority of our archers to defend Greenwood."

"And what say the Councillor of Law and the Principal Councillor?" asked Erestor, declining to point out how much of the forest was growing dark and twisted despite the silvans' heroic efforts. He hoped the other two Ladies acceptance would over-rule the Councillor of War and Defence.

"It matters not what we think individually for we must be united in opinion before consent may be granted," answered Ithiloth. "Let us hear now your justifications for the measure and its particular effects upon our world."

"We would learn what length of service has been discussed in Imladris, Lothlorien, and Mithlond also," added Calargyll, "for surely the leaders of those realms conferred on this point before sending you hither."

Thus Erestor was denied an easy victory and had to exercise the gifts in diplomacy and negotiation for which he was renowned and had been chosen for the task.

A different sort of meeting was taking place simultaneously in Thranduil's private study.

As in his wives' parlour, nearly all evidence of the stony walls and floor was concealed in this comfortable and orderly den. The room was arranged around a central hearth, composed of a tree-shaped fire-grate and chimney just like that in the Ladies' chamber. The ceiling of the cavern was not so high, however, and thus the entire space seemed more personal, which was fitting for this was Thranduil's private refuge from his many spouses, his troops' captains, the numerous nobles who sought his favour, and even his children, who could be a trial at times.

A great desk of polished walnut was set on one side and behind it were shelves of matching timber braced upon the rock. The surface of the table was neat and orderly, with the day's correspondence and various reports and agreements to be reviewed organised by level of importance and divided amid three shallow walnut wood boxes. The shelving held a great number of books and scrolls, all as carefully catalogued and as carefully maintained. The entire working area itself was set apart from the remainder of the room by a large floor rug bearing an almost austere pattern in maroons and golden thread.

The rest of the space was clearly for relaxation. The walls were covered in fair tapestries that detailed the monarch's family history and showed events from his youth and upbringing in Beleriand. The floors were covered in an overlapping pile of plush furs and rugs so that not a hint of rock showed through. Gathered in a semi-circle around the grate was a collection of comfortable seating options, including thickly padded armchairs, two long sofas, a chaise, and three large ottomans. There was even a mound of cushions suitable for use when sprawling out upon the floor. The need for so many available spots and means of sitting was not hard to understand given the number of family members the King might at times entertain within the cosy study.

Therein Thranduil sat on one of the couches beside the ancient guardian to all his children, listening to her recount of his sons' antics in the small refectory. Concern etched itself across his noble countenance in deep creases above his brows and his stern lips were turned down in disappointment.

"So they have not discarded the Yejquv (High Council), even after all this time," he groused with a shake of his head and a sigh. "What are they planning?"

"Forgive me, Lord, but you must recall that the nature of the bond between the children and their governess is nearly sacred. Even though most of them are no longer elflings, still I will not divulge their hearts unless real danger threatens them. There are surely times when you welcomed a similar covenant in your young years," reprimanded Eirien (Daisy) with a slight twinkle of a smile lighting those all-seeing slate-grey eyes. Actually, she had no idea what the siblings were plotting, for their plans had not yet advanced beyond Legolas' trial of missing breakfast.

"Indeed!" Thranduil could not suppress a chuckle over his remembrance of a prank or two he and his brothers had devised in their youth. Never had Galion betrayed them to Oropher and he could hardly expect Eirien to behave differently. "I trust it is not too terrible, then. Yet I am worried, for Legolas is still so young to undergo this introduction into their exclusive society of havoc and mayhem."

"True, yet he feels left out and needs inclusion much more than did any of the others, considering the depth of his grief and the weight of his responsibility. Annûnfaen was not too much older when she was inducted," consoled Eirien.

"Aye, but Annûn is very precocious and smarter than any of the rest of them. They rather had a difficult time inventing a test she could not see through and circumvent even before it was begun."

"She is one of a kind, that is accurate. Yet all the older children love Legolas as dearly as do you. None will see him come to any woe, even if today's events went awry. Fêrlas had no wish to make his brother suffer unduly and had prepared a suitable substitute for the porridge to keep the little one from going hungry until luncheon. Whatever scenario they create for Legolas' admittance into Yejquv (High Council) will instead tend to support his self-image and enhance his sense of place among them."

"Very well, Eirien, I will rely upon your sound judgement as I have done since Tuamdir was Legolas' age. Let no ill-fate befall him! Alert me of any changes in the direction this initiation takes."

"As you wish, Hiren. Now on the matter of the intru…that is to say, the visitors."

"Yes, what have you learned?" The King leaned toward her eagerly, hoping to gain insight into the reasons for the Noldor's journey.

"I did not seek for such information," Eirien's chastising tome deflated Thranduil's excitement somewhat. "Yet the two warriors do not know the details. One thinks troops will be exchanged, the other that only ambassadors will be established. What intrigues me is Legolas' interest. Brannon'eth (young lord) is quite fascinated with them and is spending the day in their company. I have cautioned Cugu and Toloth against revealing their union, yet perhaps it is time to speak of such matters with the Tawarwaith."

"Eirien, he is but a babe! These are not ideas he can comprehend," huffed Thranduil, surprised for the topic to arise.

"He was in their quarters this morn and observed them abed together."

"He what?" Thranduil leaped up in outrage, fully prepared to have the visitors thrown out of his lands for subjecting his innocent son to such a sight.

"Calm yourself, Hêndhuin (River Child - a nickname Oropher used for Thranduil and Eirien adopted). The pair were but sleeping in the aftermath of the feast and the fulfilment of their passion. Legolas is merely curious as to why they are forced to share a room and bed when everyone else is allowed their own chambers."

"Ah, that is a relief. Truly, Eirien, you might have made that plain." The King resumed his seat with some disgruntlement.

"I would have had you not reacted so precipitously. As I was about to explain, Legolas' mind has been enlightened by Tawar already and he has very acute hearing. He has heard all manner of talk regarding the physical qualities of various elves of both sexes. While he does not understand completely, he comprehends some elements of the bond betwixt elves."

"What? Who has been sharing such mature ideas with one so young?" demanded the irate father, rising to his feet again in response to his anger.

"Be at peace and hear my words, Aran Thranduil," admonished Eirien with a wry smile. "No one has done so deliberately. I have just remarked that Brannon Las Dithen (Little Leaf Lord) has big ears. He can comprehend speech occurring in private far from his physical location. It is usually his siblings he overhears, yet there is a tree he favours to climb in the courtyard and that overlooks the stables and the barracks. Soldiers are not given to discretion when they believe their words are not uttered in the presence of elflings."

"I see what you mean," Thranduil sheepishly sat down again. "Is my littlest one's hearing really so keen? What is his range?"

"Unknown at this time, but it is likely to increase as his years advance. He shall be quite gifted, in many ways, our Tawarwaith anu (male). Thus, do not let the discussion remain unspoken for too long, else he will draw his own conclusions and these are bound to be erroneous. Ignorance is not a blessing when such an important concept is the subject."

"Aye, yet he is so young! Let me wait a little longer; mayhap he will come to me with his questions, or to you."

"As you wish, Hiren," Eirien acquiesced with a nod of her head and rose. "Perhaps you might at least chaperone Legolas' day with the Noldor. They are good people and would not do him any harm, yet it would cheer Brannonlas' spirit to spend the day with his Ada as well." The ancient nanny was highly gratified to see her Lord's face light up with joy and a longing just as deep as she knew resided in Legolas' heart.

With a beaming smile, Thranduil followed her out of the comfortable office and headed at once for the gardens. He had no difficulty finding the adventuring trio, for Legolas was singing a praise of Greenwood to a mesmerised collection of assorted wildlife and the visiting Noldor, on the far edge of the stronghold grounds near a small outcrop of granite where the boas lived. The venerable black snake, mascot of one of Greenwood's most powerful families, was coiled up on the stone, intently listening. The King knew this song, too, and promptly added his musical baritone to the princeling's piping soprano. At the completion of the lyrics, Legolas' lilting voice ceased and he dashed toward the sound of his father's.

"Ada!" he called with evident delight, racing with as much speed as such short legs could convey him. "You are here!"

"I am here, hên vell (dear child)," answered the King and laughed to see the flying yellow hair streaming out behind the running elfling. He crouched down to catch up the small body that leaped for him with outstretched arms, holding Legolas close as those arms wound around his neck and squeezed tight.

"I am showing our guests all the sights in the courtyard. I took them to my tree, but they said they are too old to climb in it! Have you ever heard such a thing? Even Eirien climbs amid the trees and she is ancient," the diminutive prince exclaimed.

"They are not Wood Elves like you and Eirien, Legolas," Thranduil laughed and glanced at the worthy warriors calmly awaiting their tour to continue. It was difficult to imagine them up a tree. "The Noldor elves do not spend very much time in the branches. Their homes are in the open lands where trees are grown in gardens."

"Oh! That is a shame for them; I did not know," Legolas sent his new friends a sympathetic look as he was hefted up upon his father's right shoulder.

"Do not worry over it, Legolas. We are happy on the ground," assured Cugu. "Good day to you, noble King," he added with a courtly bow.

"Suilad Aran Thranduil, you honour us with your presence." stated Toloth.

"Mae Govannen, worthy warriors," replied Thranduil. "I trust my Brannonlas Dithen has been entertaining you fittingly?" And though he tried he could not quite keep the edge of disapproval from his tone, due to Eirien's revelations. He noticed as their posture stiffened just the tiniest degree in apprehension and sighed. It was not their fault that his little son took to wandering in the early hours, invading private chambers unbidden. He gave the couple a reassuringly gracious smile to make up for the unintended censure.

"Yes, Ada, I have been very careful to leave nothing out. Cugu and Toloth will know the grounds as well as I before day's end," boasted Legolas proudly.

"Well, maybe not quite that well," laughed Cugu, doubly gladdened to note that whatever had caused the King such displeasure had been set aside. "I do not think we will ever achieve the perspective of the land you enjoy from the canopy."

"Certainly I will not!" exclaimed Toloth. "I would be very nervous in the branches with the earth so far below. I do not believe I have ever climbed into a tree."

"Not even once?" the prince was shocked.

"Nay. Yet I have been in a boat. Have you been in a boat before?" asked Toloth.

"I have not," pouted Legolas. "Ada, why have I not been in a boat?" But then suddenly a confused expression filled with pain crossed over his face like a shadow moving before the sun and he dropped his head against the King's. His Naneth had been killed by Orcs going in boats down the river, he remembered with vivid imagery he did not like to see. "Nay, I do not want to know of boats!" he cried, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

"Ai! Be at peace, ion dithen (little son). Boats themselves are not evil. We use rafts and canoes to go to and from Dale in Erebor, to trade with the Men living there. It is the purpose the boat is put to that is subject to either evil or good," murmured Thranduil, rubbing the shaking shoulder and smoothing a long caress down the bowed head. He could not help sending an exasperated glance in Toloth's direction.

The warrior felt terrible for bringing the subject up, for he had quite forgotten how the child's mother had come to be surrounded by enemies so easily. "Forgive me," he whispered and dropped his gaze to the ground. "It escaped my thoughts, the manner of your Naneth's demise."

"It is not your fault," said Legolas, lifting his eyes to Cugu's as he found Toloth's turned down. He was still sad, but at least Toloth did not pretend his mother never existed and spoke of the tragedy openly. It upset Legolas that everyone seemed to fear even to say the word 'naneth' in his hearing. "I forget sometimes, too, and she was my Naneth. You cannot be expected to recall something that is not part of your own life."

"Well said, Legolas," praised his father, just as astonished as the guests over this wisdom and its compassionate expression. "Now then, what else have you showed the warriors? Have you taken them to the training grounds and to the stables?" This query he knew would divert his child from grief.

"Nay, Ada, for I am not allowed to go in those places alone," Legolas' words were packed with excited anticipation, hoping he guessed correctly what his father would propose.

"That is right, but I am here with you now. I think it would be fitting to introduce the good soldiers from Imladris to the horses of the Wood Elves and maybe encourage them to try their skill against our warriors' in mock-combat," he said, smiling to see the sorrow depart from the elfling's face over this rare treat. Not even with his siblings as companions would Thranduil allow Legolas in the more dangerous areas of the compound, for the King tended to over-protection when it came to his youngest child.

"Yes, that would be fine, Ada!" the child replied with enthusiasm, searching the visitors' faces for signs of their approval. It was not hard to see they would give it, for they were both grinning broadly, even Toloth.

"I would welcome that, Aran arphen (noble King)," said Cugu. "We are accustomed to rigourous practice when at home and to spar against the woodland warriors is a distinct privilege."

"I agree. It is not often one has opportunity to be tested against such worthy fighters," added Toloth.

"Then it is decided," concluded Thranduil. "Yet it is nearly midday already and I have heard about the trouble over breakfast. I am thinking you all must be hungry, for that meal was interrupted."

"Aye, Ada!" exclaimed Legolas. "And Gelir packed all my favourite things for our luncheon. May we go down to the glen by the river?"

"Indeed we may, I was about to suggest that myself," answered the King and motioned for the two Noldor to accompany them as he set off down the wooded path.

Yet their plans were foiled, for the lovely glade was already occupied. The pair of elves, an elleth and ellon, were thoroughly engrossed in one another and did not heed the noisy arrival of the King's entourage, even though Legolas was chattering away incessantly and firing off questions to the visiting Noldor about the kinds of trees and wildlife found in Imladris. Upon catching sight of the couple, the child fell silent, for he was listening to the unsuspecting elves instead. He giggled and then smiled when his Adar looked up in question.

"It is Sîr," the Tawarwaith explained in a soft whisper. "He just told Tulus (Poplar) that her eyes are filled with starlight and her hair carries the scent of roses in spring time."

"Ah, they are courting," nodded Toloth sagely, matching the elfling's hushed voice. "We should grant them their privacy."

"Aye, let us not intrude," smiled Thranduil, yet could not resist another glance in the couples' direction, grinning hugely as Sîrgel stole a quick kiss and Tulus playfully slapped his arm for doing so before promptly stealing it back.

"Ugh!" groaned Legolas. "What if they do not like the taste of what each one ate for breakfast? Disgusting."

Cugu tried hard yet failed to suppress a snort of laughter, which prompted Toloth to start snickering, and even Thranduil was struggling to keep his mirth in check. Thus the group had to bolt for fear of giving away their presence and embarrassing the spooners. Once they had found a suitable place to stop further down the winding river's mossy banks, the picnic was consumed with relish and Legolas began his interrogation anew.

"What is courting, Ada?"

"Ah, that is when two elves spend time together, learning of each other in order to see if they are well-matched," replied the King concisely.

"Well-matched for what?"

"To become life mates," interposed Cugu.

"Oh, like you and Corchrîn, Ada?"

"Yes, Legolas, that is right. Sîrgel is grown up now and seeking a life-mate." Thranduil spared the Noldo warrior a warning glance for his interruption.

"Is Tulus going to move in with us soon? I hope there will be a big feast! Are they going to bring any elflings along?"

"One question at a time, pen dithen (little one)!" exclaimed the badgered father. "I do not know if those two will choose to bond with one another. We must wait and see what Sîrgel tells us. If they do become mates, then of course there will be a grand celebration.

"I doubt they will wish to live within the stronghold, however, for there is little room for expansion these days. I shall help Sîrgel make a fine talan for his dwelling. And after they have been husband and wife for a time, I am sure they will be gifted with at least one elfling, Valar willing."

"Sîr will move away? But I do not want him to do that! I will move out of the nursery and they can have those rooms."

"Nay, they will want their own space, at least for a time, where they will not be interrupted by too many callers."

"Why?"

"They will wish to spend time together privately."

"Why?"

"It is the way among newly-bonded elves, Legolas. They crave a time together, apart from others, in order to become close and know each other fully."

"What for? Why can they not learn of each other with friends and family around?"

"It is because they must decide serious things about their life together. Like whether or not to have any children," Toloth was only trying to be helpful, but received an icy glare from Thranduil for this remark.

"Oh. If they do decide to have elflings, where are they going to get them? Who gifted me to you, Ada?"

"Your Naneth, of course. Cùroniel was so happy when she learned you were to be born."

"That is good," Legolas smiled and contemplated this for a few seconds, thumb in mouth, and then his smooth brow furrowed. "Where did she find me? If Naneth did not find me, would I belong to someone else instead?"

"Nay, she did not find you, Legolas, you are our son. Your mother and I created you together. That is the only way to have an elfling born, it requires a mother and a father united by a sacred bond." Thranduil was outwardly calm yet this was not a discussion he would choose to have in the company of strangers. As it was, he could tell the warriors were enjoying the conversation entirely too much and the King feared what audience might hear of it from them later.

As for the 'talk' itself, he had hoped to put it off a bit longer. Now here was Legolas fulfilling his own requirement as stated to Eirien just an hour ago: that the child bring up the subject himself. Thranduil briefly wondered whether the range of his son's hearing had made him privy to that conversation but discarded the thought as too outlandish.

Legolas was silent again as he considered his father's words. On the one hand, he did not want Sîr to leave the stronghold, for he was often away on patrol for long periods as it was. Yet he thought it might be nice to have another elfling close by, one smaller than him, and if Sîr and Tulus must relocate to get one then perhaps he could tolerate the separation.  _As long as I can spend time with them I will not mind. Mayhap they will make a room in their talan just for me to stay in when I visit the babe._  He decided to clarify the point.

"Will I be allowed to play with Tulus' elfling, Ada? Will it be anu or inu? What is the babe's name?"

"Of course Sîr will let you play with his child, once it is old enough. Babes are fragile at first, however, and must be carefully protected. It would not matter if the child is male or female, would it? You would love your brother's elfling either way, would you not? And how can the child have a name if it has not even been born yet?"  _Or even imagined!_ Thranduil chuckled over the continuous curiosity of his youngest, glad the questions had moved on to less delicate areas of discussion.

"Nay, I would not care which the elfling is, except that sometimes my sisters lock their doors and do not let me in, even when I knock politely. My brother's never do that."

"That is not surprising; in Imladris ladies tend to protect their privacy quite diligently also," laughed Cugu good naturedly.

"But I do not understand privacy," whined the elfling. "What does it mean? Why is it so important?"

"That is easy," opined Toloth. "Privacy is for bathing or answering the body's call of need."

"Call of need?" Legolas' confusion-scrunched face was enough to send the adults into giggles that rather offended the youngster. He sent his Ada a hurt look and folded his arms across his small chest moodily. "Why is that funny?"

"Ai, Legolas, forgive me, it is not! The expression on your face was most comical, however, and I could not help myself. What Toloth is referring to is what we call 'elimination'. Now do you understand privacy?"

"Oh," Legolas nodded vigourously and sent Toloth an exasperated look. "Why did you not say so?"

"I am sorry, Ernil Vallen (Golden Prince). I did not mean to confuse you. So do we refer to such necessities of nature in Imladris," the warrior was still lightly laughing over the misunderstanding and shook his head.

"But I still do not understand, Ada. No one bathes or eliminates in their sleeping chamber," the astute elfling observed.

"I did not say so, yet one may wish for privacy in other matters also, such as spending time with one's mate, free of interruption. Adults need time alone with each other, Legolas, it is the way of things between husbands and wives. Think of it this way: when I take you to practice tracking, you do not wish for Eirien to come along. Why is that?"

"Ai! She fusses too much! 'Mind that root, Brannonlas. Not so quickly, Legolas. That limb is too slender, Tawarwaith dithen.'," Legolas mimicked his nanny's chiming voice so well that the three adults once more fell to giggling. The elfling was pleased to see this and stored the cause away for future use.

"Exactly." Thranduil had to wipe at his tearing eyes, for he recalled having the same complaints over Eirien's constant warnings when he was young. "You and I understand about tracking perfectly and thus we require privacy when we hunt together."

"That makes sense, I suppose, though one cannot hunt in one's sleep either." Legolas could tell he was not going to get any clearer an explanation and sighed.

"I do not know about you, Ernil dithen (little Prince), but I am ready to see the valiant steeds of the Woodland Realm," said Cugu, rising from the ground and brushing off his clothing.

"Yes! I am ready! And then you will demonstrate fighting skills?" the elfling was on his feet at once and bouncing in eager anticipation.

"We shall," agreed Toloth as he helped Thranduil pack up the leftovers and dishes.

The rest of the afternoon was pure bliss for Legolas. He came to the conclusion that he never wanted the visitors to leave, for he had not spent an entire day with his Ada in long months, and he attributed the change to the strangers' presence. When the sparring was finished and every horse had been inspected, including those at large amid the meadows by the riverside, sunset was not far off. Legolas could not suppress a yawn, for he had slept little the previous night or the day before, and did not object when his father lifted him up upon his shoulders again. It was a long way back for such a small elf, after all.

Once returned to the stronghold, Legolas was handed off to Eirien's care amid promises to be wakened before meal time so that he could accompany his Ada to table. Almost before his head touched the pillow, the elfling was soundly sleeping as he had not done for several days.

Thus, he was completely rejuvenated and bursting with energy when he awoke of his own accord two hours later, his hunger inspiring his eagerness for dinner. He even agreed to bathe and don fresh garments at Eirien's suggestion and was neat and clean when the King came along to collect him, Corchrîn, his favourite among the wives, at his side. Annûn was there, too and Doronlas (Oak-Leaf, the younger twin.)

That made Legolas nervous, for he had promised his nanny to relate the whole story about Fêrlas, who was not there due to his punishment of kitchen duty, and the tainted porridge. Yet he dearly wished not to do so and though he had spent the entire day with his father, he had been too busy enjoying their time together to bring it up. Eirien gave her small charge a pointed look to convey that she would not forget the promise and then handed the child off to his father.

"What do you think, Legolas?" Corchrîn cooed with a lovely smile as she bent down and took up his hands in hers. "We have another guest for dinner tonight."

"Oh, who it it?" Legolas found her excitement infectious and hopped up and down upon his toes.

"It is Tulus of Nost Lhûg-vorn (House of the Black Boa). Sîrgel invited her so that she might meet the rest of his family," the Raven wife answered gayly, pleased to see the child's merriment equalled hers.

"Then they will be bound together soon?" Legolas asked Thranduil, who smiled and patted the little one's golden head.

"It may well be so, for never has your brother invited any of his other ellyth friends to a family dinner. We must wait and see what he has to say about it, however, so pray do not mention bonding this evening."

"I will not," promised Legolas, happy to find one hand held by his Ada and the other by Naneth Canthui (Fourth Mother). He loved Corchrîn almost as much as his own mother and Eirien. He looked over his shoulder at Annûn and she smiled back. "Are we going to make her an official…sister," Legolas caught himself, for he had nearly given away the secret he was not supposed to ever mention before the parents, by decree of the Yejquv (High Council). If he could not learn to watch his words, he would never be granted full-fledged membership in Nost Othronn (House of the Cavern Fortress - a unifying clan the siblings have created for themselves that supersedes their separate family affiliations).

"Perhaps, though she may not wish it. She will be our sister by marriage and that should be sufficient," answered the Raven maiden, smiling to show she did not fault Legolas for his near slip.

"Aye, she will make a fine sister. The Boas are fierce fighters," Doronlas added, giving his little brother a wink to show he was also staunchly on the elfling's side.

Thus the family proceeded to the great refectory, a huge dining hall reserved for times when important visitors were within the city. The other wives began arriving with their various children and Erestor and his compatriots entered with Orgilion as guide. Menelfân escorted Ithiloth but Sîrgel was not present. He entered last, proudly and nervously ushering his fair guest upon his arm. He introduced Tulus formally all around, though everyone knew her well, for she was a contemporary and friend of Lothanor and Glamor, having just reached her majority a year before them.

Thus the meal began and all was well, everyone relaxing and accepting Tulus without question. The Noldor visitors provided ample avenues for interesting conversation and many were the stories of Imladris the trio told to their rapt audience.

Yet Legolas had eyes only for the elleth who seemed to have captured his brother's heart. He watched her every movement, noting even which foods she preferred. He listened to every sound she uttered, committing the pattern of her speech to his memory. So intense was his scrutiny that her gaze was drawn to him often over the course of the meal. Each time she found him staring, however, she gave him a kindly smile in return. Yet at last Sîrgel became irritated with his sibling's single-minded interest and confronted him.

"Tuiw, why are you looking so curiously at Tulus? You have seen her before many times," he said.

"Ah, Sîrgel, mayhap it is best to refrain from that line of questioning just now," Thranduil cautioned, for he had been relieved beyond expression for Legolas' silence thus far.

"I am sorry, Tulus; I did not mean to be rude," the child apologised with chagrin, lifting his huge blue eyes to hers in remorse. Well, she could no more resist that look than anyone else could, and gave him a brilliant smile in return.

"Never mind your brother, pen dithen," she said sweetly. "If you are inquisitive I do not mind at all. What is it you wish to know of me?"

"When is the babe going to be born?" asked Legolas innocently. He was horrified by the result of this question.

A second's worth of intense and profound silence was summarily shattered as all Legolas' siblings, save Sîrgel, nearly choked as they burst into howls of laughter. The Noldor warriors stifled their mirth with difficulty as Erestor glanced from them to the child to the King uneasily. The wives were exhibiting varying degrees of dismay and mortification with hands pressed over lips or against bowed foreheads. Thranduil met Sîrgel's eyes with an expression of apologetic guilt, then transferred it to Tulus in hopes of reassuring the maiden.

Sîrgel turned the colour of stewed beets while his guest became as white as summer clouds, the mirth vanishing from her eyes as her mouth dropped open in shock and her fork fell to her plate with a loud clatter. Tulus fairly jumped from her chair and bolted from the room, Sîrgel right behind her. Thus, the eldest brother was fated to miss another session of Yejquv as he attempted to mitigate his brother's unintentional humiliation of the lady he had hoped would consent to become his intended.

"Legolas!" scolded Ithiloth in fury. "That is an entirely inappropriate question to ask someone!" She rose and went to the child's seat, lifting him from the chair and carrying him away from the family.

"But Minui Naneth (First Mother)," the little one mourned, "I did not know it was wrong. Ada said they would have an elfling soon."

"Indeed, Minui, do not punish the child," huffed Corchrîn, squeezing Thranduil's hand to keep him from leaving the table as well. She knew from experience it was best not to get in Ithiloth's way where the correct upbringing of the Tawarwaith was in question. He acquiesced to her silent plea, albeit guiltily, promising himself to make it up to Legolas later in the evening.

Corchrîn's request went unheeded by Ithiloth, save for a daunting glare from the regal Silver Queen that encompassed both her husband and his Fouth Wife, and everyone could hear the elfling sobbing as he was taken back to his nursery in disgrace.

TBC

  
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	12. Chapter 12

##### Un-Beta'd from this point on.    _Italics indicate thoughts._

### XII. Ride from the Woods and Bring your Bows

  
"…then Glorfindel saw that they were ensnared by Melkor's evil soldiers: Orcs and goblins plaguing Galdor and Tuor at the head of the trail, more Orcs and a vile Balrog behind his company of warriors, closing fast upon them.

"  _'Swords!'_  cried the Lord of the Golden Flower and his troops drew their weapons and followed after their leader, shouting curses against the hated demons as they charged. Great was the valour of their assault against their foes and the Orcs began to give back, quailing at the sight of the onrushing elves and Thorndor and his eagle lords plucking goblins from the heights with their sharp talons, casting them down into the ribbon of water winding through the rocks in the bottom of Cristhorn.

"Glorfindel challenged the Balrog, desiring to slay it, for many were his loved ones that had perished under the whips of such demons in the Fall of the Fair City of Singing Stones, and among the refugees were the remnants of his House. The craven creature of flame and shadow ignored the summons and jumped past him, landing amid the maids, the children, and the wounded.

"The Balrog's lash snapped and hissed, its crimson fire searing the helpless with its heat, punctuating the brutish laughter of the cruel beast and the piercing screams of wretched agony from the victims. These cries were terrible to hear and an unbearable sound to the warriors' ears. In vain did the company seek a way to put their swords betwixt the children and that whip, for the Orcs renewed their murderous efforts in delight over the elves' torment. 

"The gallant heart of Lord Glorfindel was inflamed with pity for his suffering kinsmen and fairly burst with rage to see them tortured by the Balrog, and he would not abide it. With a roar he raced forward and sprang; a mighty leap carried him before the Spawn of Melkor and he accosted the gruesome raug (devil), hewing it with his great sword, so close upon it that the flames of the beast reflected in the fair elven armour. So fierce was his attack that the fiendish foe was pressed back, forced to seek safety upon the craggy limbs of stone abutting the narrow path, but Glorfindel would not relent and followed. From boulder to boulder, dancing across the precipice, heedless of the danger promised by the sheer drop into the defile, the brave captain pursued his enemy, driving him ever farther from the suffering innocents.

"At last the Balrog could flee no further and turned to confront Glorfindel. How the heights glowed with the garish orange blaze and searing silver sparks emitted every time the elven Lord's blade struck the despicable form of Melkor's creation! How the creature bellowed and raged, furious that it could not turn back the dauntless determination of its opponent nor strike down the valiant Vanya warrior! It seemed that Glorfindel was clothed in flame, yet he did not feel the heat nor notice the lick of the lash. He smote the foul creature about the head and sliced off its whip arm at the elbow. Then the Balrog saw that it could not prevail and its end was at hand, and the beast threw itself upon Glorfindel. The mighty warrior did not quail but stabbed his foe with a dagger, and as the creature was thrown back it dragged him down as well.

"Down over the edge they went! Down into the great chasm they fell! Down into the frigid waters of Thorn Sir fell Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, both vanquisher and vanquished, yet not once did his fair voice cry out in fear or regret all that long way down."

Galurem (Many Blessings) paused here, glancing down in concern to check his baby brother's status, for he had felt the little one's body shiver where Legolas was pressed up close against him, sandwiched between the youngest Dragon child and their father as they sat on the elfling's bed. Enormous owlish blue eyes met his above a curled fist clutching a lock of Galu's chestnut hair, where a small thumb was securely ensconced between dark red lips. Galu shifted his sight to his Adar, seeking consent before turning the page, for on the next leaf he knew was a detailed, coloured drawing of the scene. Thranduil's brief smile and nod encouraged the youth and he carefully, slowly revealed the scary image.

A quick breath left the elfling. "Raug gortheb!"(Horrible demon!) he hissed quietly and looked up expectantly at his big brother, waiting for the end of the tale, which he knew by heart now but still needed to hear.  

"The rest of the orcs were defeated," Galu read, "for the warriors' vigour was renewed as their wrath kindled high to see their revered leader fall. Then Thorndor, Lord of the Eagles, retrieved Glorfindel's broken body from the icy river. At the entrance to the rocky pass he was laid to rest; a high cairn was raised over him and upon it yellow flowers grew. Yet nevermore did any elf see those blossoms and only the eagles kept vigil over the grave, until finally the lands were changed and all that region inundated by the Great Sea.

"Alas! Great was the mourning of the refugees for Glorfindel was beloved among his people. With heavy hearts they continued on for there was nothing left of the world they had know before and little hope for peace when so many of the noble Gondolindrim were no more. The End." Galurem shut the book and looked down at his baby brother with a sad smile.

Then Legolas pulled his thumb out and smiled, too, as he straightened up. "But that is not the end, is it?" he said firmly. "Glorfindel was reborn. He is alive right now, is that not so, Ada?" the child's eyes held a bright and hopeful light within them as he turned to his father.

"Aye, he lives. Glorfindel resides in Imladris with the people of Elrond, for the Lord of those lands is descended of Tuor and Idril and Eärendil," confirmed Thranduil, drawing his youngest elfling up onto his lap and wrapping him up tight in strong, safe arms.

The King had not been surprised to find Galu already here when he had arrived at the nursery, for the impetuous youth had thrown down his fork and nearly yanked the table cloth to the floor in his haste to exit the dining hall. Thranduil had felt a strong surge of pride in his Dragon son then, for though by silvan custom he was of Huneb'ell's people, Galurem reminded the Sindarin Lord of his own elder brother, long dead on the desolate and blasted plains before Morannon.(the Black Gate of Mordor) Even now, the smouldering resentment Galu felt on his baby brother's behalf was evident, deeply colouring his natural glow with silver flashes, like the bright white heart in the hottest core of a single flame.

Thranduil unwound one arm from his youngest and reached over to encompass Galu in the embrace. His Dragon son looked up, surprised and embarrassed, but a softer gleam filled his eyes, too, and Thranduil knew he was pleased.

Galu smiled shyly, too aware of all the faces watching, for they were not the only occupants of the nursery. Indeed, he had been but the first to reach Legolas' chambers, for almost all the siblings, save Glamor and Sîrgel, who was attempting to mend matters with his beloved, had come to mitigate the harshness of the Silver Queen. It felt good to have been the first, however, and Galu was proud to receive this open affirmation from their sire. He met each of his siblings' gazes, noting the mixture of envy and genuine joy upon their countenances. He was so much more at peace now and wondered how the intense, explosive anger that had consumed him earlier had cooled and given way to this easy sense of security and belonging.  _Legolas has a way of doing that; he calms me._

Galu recalled the events preceding this restful moment: 

The younger of Huneb'ell's offspring stormed from the refectory without bothering to hide his outrage.  _No one should ever be permitted to make Legolas cry after all the elfling has suffered._  He hated Ithiloth and her cool, smug demeanour, looking down on the other wives because she was First and belonged to the House of Tawar. She barely even spoke to him or Glamor and treated their mother with disdain when they met.

So it seemed to his troubled mind, for Galu felt keenly the sting of his lack of status among his own people. His grandfather belonged to the Foxes and refused to acknowledge Huneb'ell's children by Thranduil. In truth Ithiloth was not unkind to his mother even if they were seldom in agreement on issues of concern to the Greenwood. To the young warrior, however, this lack of accord was interpreted as criticism and derision on the part of the Silver Queen.  _I would like to make her cry!_

Galu went straight to the nursery where he found Legolas in the tub as Galion watched over him. The chestnut-haired prince grinned as he observed his baby brother making waves to move his wooden barges through the water. "What are you playing, maethor dithen (little warrior)?" he asked, sharing his smile with Galion as he entered and sat on the edge of the bathtub.

"Galu! I am glad to see you here. Is Sîr really angry with me? Do you think he will forgive me?" implored Legolas. "I did not know Tulus would think I was being rude."

"Nay, Tuiw, he is not angry, I am sure. He is talking with Tulus and explaining what you meant. Whatever made you ask her that?" Galu could not help inquiring, for it was such an unexpected thing for his little brother to say.

"I did not know it was wrong," Legolas' lower lip trembled anew and his bright eyes filled with more tears.

"Ai! No more weeping; I am not scolding you. If you want to know, I thought it was very funny. Did you see how red Sîr's face became?" Galu giggled and leaned in to splash the elfling. "Do you know, I think that is a fitting prank, enough to earn the initiation without further trials."

Legolas' eyes grew huge and he glanced furtively at Galion, fearful for the elder servant to learn of this deeply protected secret among the siblings, but Galu only laughed.

"Nay, it is no test I give you. Galion knows all about it as does Eirien."

"Is that true?" whispered the blue-eyed child, staring at his Ada's trusted seneschal.

"It is, Legolas. Fear not, we have never given away anything that was not meant to be known. In fact, I helped with the joke played upon the Noldor visitors," averred Galion proudly. "Now then, your toes are all wrinkled up like raisins and the water is too cool to play in any longer, Tuiw. Out you get and into your night clothes."

"Very well, Galion. Must I go to sleep though? I am not at all tired for I rested this afternoon," Legolas sought to negotiate his punishment.

"Minui Naneth did not say anything about making you sleep, only that you were confined to the nursery until the letter is finished. Come, you may sit abed for a time and mayhap Galu will tell you a story or two," suggested the butler kindly.

"What letter?" demanded Galu, interrupting his brother's excited exclamation of anticipation. The Silver Queen, Galion relayed, had decreed that her nephew must compose a letter of apology to Tulus for his inappropriate remark. Upon hearing the explanation, Galu cursed her vilely. "Eru's Arse, she is colder than Ossë's balls!" 

"Galurem!" chastised Eirien sternly, poking her head around the bathing room door. "You must not say such things in front of Legolas."

"Forgive me, Eirien, but someone must teach him to swear and it might as well be me," quipped the elder prince and was gratified to see the nanny smile indulgently as she turned away. "When Adar hears of this he will be very displeased. Legolas can hardly write his name much less an entire apology."

"I can do it, Galu," assured the child at once. "I want to do it, for I had no wish to upset Tulus."

"Tulus was upset because she was surprised to have her dallying with our brother revealed! Do not worry over it, for if she is to join our family she will need to possess a good sense of humour. Can you imagine allowing her into Noss Othronn if she cannot see how truly funny the whole situation was?" opined Galu as he helped Legolas dress and began to comb his hair out.

"What is dallying?" asked Legolas.

Eirien laughed from the other room as Galion snorted loudly while trying to conceal his merriment. "I think we are no longer needed in here, Herven," (Husband) said the clairvoyant nanny. "Galu has matters firmly in hand." She peered around the door for a final smirk at the Dragon ellon ere she and Galion exited the nursery for their private quarters.

Legolas was glad, for of all his siblings only Galu would ever answer his questions in a straightforward way. He looked expectantly over his shoulder as his brother worked the comb through his hair and received an answering grin and touselled locks in reply. "Well? What is it? Everyone talks about it and I know they do not mean lagging behind or going slow on purpose."

"Correct, pen vaen. (clever one) Dallying is what two elves do while hoping not to create an elfling," he announced and laughed anew at Legolas bewildered expression. "Do not fret over it, Tuiw," he repeated before the next question could arise. "Now, mayhap I can go and see what is left of the desert."

"That is good of you, Galu," enthused Legolas and hugged his brother tight around the neck. He decided to just let the whole matter of elfling babes alone as it had generated so much trouble for him already.

"Aye, it is very generous, yet you must have something more nourishing first," came a voice from the doorway. Both princes looked up to find Thranduil there, smiling upon his sons fondly. He knelt quickly to catch the bounding form of the littlest prince as Legolas left Galu and vaulted through the air into his Ada's embrace. The King carried his youngest to bed and settled him there, Galu following right behind. They sat Legolas between them, propped up against the headboard with pillows stuffed behind them.

"I will, Ada. Is the dinner over now?" he asked.

"Nay, but we have decided to finish it in here," spoke another voice from the sitting room. In walked Fêrlass and Doronlass bearing a large covered tray between them. Together they set this on the low table beside the bed.

"I made sure to include everything you like best, Tuiw," added Doronlass as he lifted off the cover with a flourish.

"Hannad," said Legolas and reached over the take up one of the buttered sweet rolls. It quickly disappeared and was followed by a large forkful of venison, for the child was quite hungry after his long day exploring the grounds and the interrupted meal.

"I have brought a pitcher of apricot nectar, your favourite," sang out Annûnfaen as she marched in, Corchrîn beside her with enough cups for everyone. All the Raven children dragged in chairs and cushions from the parlour and settled around the princeling's bed. Corchrîn placed her chair near her husband and they clasped hands, Thranduil carrying hers to his lips for a swift kiss. The family began to share the repast when another interruption occurred.

"Ah, I just knew there was a party today. What is it we are celebrating, Orgilion?" It was Menelfân and his brother, Sîrgel's younger siblings of the Hawk clan.

"I am not sure. Perhaps it is for the first time ever that Sîr has been bested twice, in a single day, and by his youngest brothers." Orgilion grinned at Legolas and Fêrlass in turn.

"What have you brought, Gilion? (a nickname for Orgilion, means Star-son)" demanded Annûn, noting a thick book in her brother's hands.

The Hawk princes settled on the floor and Orgilion was about to explain when the door opened again and in bustled the heiresses of the House of the Butterfly: Lothanor, Brithla, and Gwirithiel with Calargyll right behind them. Each carried a tray piled with pastries and cakes from the pantry and promptly set these on the foot of the bed.

"You cannot leave us out," twinkled Calargyll merrily. "We have brought the sweets. Now, what games are we going to play?"

"Nay, enough excitement has occurred this day," admonished Thranduil, holding up a hand to still the chorus of groans and complaints from his offspring.

"I agree," said Corchrîn with due solemnity. "That is why Gilion has brought the book."

"It is your favourite, Tuiw," announced the young Lord of the Hawks. "The story of Glorfindel and how he saved Eärendil by battling the vile Balrog to the death."

"Oh!" Legolas clapped in anticipation as he gazed up at his Hawk brother. Orgilion and Menelfân were already heroes in his estimation, almost as strong and brave as his Ada, for he knew they were frequently gone from his life because of their dedication to protecting Greenwood from the evils of Orcs and spiders. And he knew it was Menelfân who had pulled his Naneth's body from the clutches of the Orcs on the day she died. Yet it was from neither of these he wished to hear the legend told. Legolas turned eagerly to Galu on his left. "Will you read it to me?" he begged with his most irresistible indigo gaze.

Galurem smiled broadly, honoured to be chosen above his more prestigious elder brothers or his highly ranked younger brothers, and fairly ecstatic that Legolas would have none of the sisters narrate the story. "I will do so with pleasure," he said and accepted the heavy, illustrated book form Orgilion.

With that everyone had settled in to hear the tale and listened spellbound as Galu had narrated with appropriate dramatic flair. Now that the tale was finished, the younger elves rose and stretched, relieving cramped muscles and stiff backs, for all the siblings had been hard at work upon their punishment tasks throughout the day. Galu, however, was content to remain where he was and smiled at Legolas as he leaned more fully into their Adar's clasp.

Legolas sighed in contentment. This was a much better end to the day than he had hoped for after his blunder at table. All of his family was present, except for Glamor and her mother, Minui Naneth and Sîr. While he was sorry his Dragon sister was not there, Legolas did not miss Huneb'ell, who was sometimes frightening, or Ithiloth, of whom he had seen enough that day, and he was a little worried about facing Sîr again just yet. He did wish the Noldor warriors could have heard the magnificent tale, but decided he could share that with them another time.

Annûnfaen stood from the chair in which she had been comfortably curled. "Why this new interest in Glorfindel, Tuiw?" she asked, stretching tall to ease her aching back. All day she had run back and forth on the practice fields, retrieving arrows, swords, shields, spears, and lances for various sparring warriors. More than a few of the ellin had made allusions to her appearance and flirted with her, and this had been the most unbearable aspect of the task for she had not had to endure such conduct until recently. She wanted to discuss it with her Nana but had another matter that she felt must be broached to her siblings first. 

"I just want to know if it is really true," explained Legolas. "I will go to Imladris and ask him myself someday."

"Ask what? About the Balrog? I am certain it is true, Legolas," said Menelfân. "You need not go to Imladris to learn that; ask our visitors for they are all friends with Glorfindel and see him almost every day."

"Oh! I had not thought of that! That is a grand idea, Menel. I was not thinking about the Balrog, though. I want to know if he really died and was reborn."

"Of course he was. Why would anyone make up such a thing?" Corchrîn was flabbergasted for Legolas to be thinking thus and met her beloved's eyes in worry.

Thranduil reached out and squeezed her fingers, smiling to give reassurance he perhaps did not quite feel in his soul.  _Whatever is pen dithen nín (my little one) thinking of now?_  "Aye, Legolas, the Lord of the Golden Flower lives again. By his own words he has said this and while I have not heard them myself the story was told to me by Mithrandir, who knew him in Aman. For many long years he dwelt there, growing up again from a small elfling, much like you are now, into the mighty warrior we have heard so much about."

"Then I believe it, Ada, if you say it is so. It is important to be sure," he said solemnly.

"Why do you need to be sure of Glorfindel?" Fêrlass finally asked what everyone wanted to know, even though they all suspected what this reason must be.

"If it is really the same Glorfindel, then my Nana will be reborn, too. She was just as brave as Glorfindel, fighting orcs and wraiths to protect our people," he said with calm determination. "And Greenwood needs her, more even than Lord Elrond needs Glorfindel. The Valar will have to let her come back if they allowed Glorfindel to return."

A few seconds of silence followed this announcement, for though everyone had been thinking it, hearing such a strong statement from the elfling was troubling, for of all the elves that had passed into Mandos, only Glorfindel had ever returned to Middle-earth to speak of it.

"Ai, Legolas!" Annûn breathed out, disturbed and somewhat shocked, not knowing whether to caution her brother or encourage his ardent hope to remain.

"Nay, he is right," stated Galu firmly, sending her a look that demanded the latter. "This is the promise of Námo to all the First-born, that should the body and soul be sundered a new hroa will be given after a time of rest and healing in his Halls. Yet Námo did not reveal how or when this would take place, and perhaps that is something only Glorfindel can answer. Let us, then, hold hope in our hearts for Curóniel's swift rebirth."

"Aye, to that I will gladly pledge," stated Menelfân. He reached out for his glass of juice and everyone followed his example. "An Curóniel adonnatha ar addelitha o Mandos Tham. (To Curóniel's rebirth and return from the Halls of Mandos.) May she be healed of her hurts and rested in spirit. May she see the light of Aman and the faces of the Valar and return to tell us of such wonders."

"An Curóniel adonnatha ar addelitha o Mandos Tham." (To Curóniel's rebirth and return from the Halls of Mandos.) Everyone spoke this oath, raised their goblet, and drank to signify their solidarity in wishing for this great event to come to pass.

After this, Calargyll wondered aloud if it might not be best for Legolas to try and rest, as he had endured an exhausting evening. She raised her brows to Thranduil and gave a small nod, her way of informing him that she had won the morning's tournament between the wives, and preceded her daughters from the  nursery.

Corchrîn tried to hide her disappointment but Thranduil noticed anyway and gave her hand a final kiss before releasing her from his clasp. Sadly he watched her leave the room, her head held high and her back strong and unbowed, for he understood how much it hurt her to know he would spend this night with his Second Wife. He bent to give his littlest prince a kiss. "Îdh vaer, Tawarwaith dithen." (Rest well, little Tawarwaith.) So saying, and accepting a kiss and a hug in return, the King rose and dutifully followed after Calargyll.

Doronlas gave a low rumble of discontent but voiced nothing more of his anger to see his naneth saddened. He motioned for his siblings to join him and not only the Ravens but the Hawks followed him from the nursery. Together the five marched down the halls until they reached a less-used section of the stronghold, a series of caverns reserved for emergency occupation by the Wood Elves of the forest at large. At a dimly lit cross-corridor they encountered the Butterfly daughters waiting for them and Glamor was also there.

"Where is my brother?" demanded First Daughter of the House of the Blue Dragon.

"He is still with Tuiw. I do not believe he means to join us or he would have caught up with us before now," said Annûnfaen, her tone disgruntled and irritated. She wished he was present, for generally Galu was a staunch supporter of her plans even when others would gainsay her.

"Sîr is not coming either. We cannot hold Yejquv [High Council] without them," sighed Brithla. (Pearl)

"Oh yes we can and we must," argued Orgilion. "Just look at Annûn; we all know what that sparkle in her eyes portends."

"Aye," nodded Menelfân with a sly grin. "She has had an Idea."

At this everyone turned to focus upon the youngest Raven child. She was indeed smiling with unbridled deviousness and looked fit to burst in her desire to reveal this Great Notion that had come upon her during the evening spent in Legolas' rooms. Yes, she had just conceived what was probably the best prank ever, and she had thought up some very grand schemes in her short life. Not even Lothanor's 'Attack of the Avari' could compare to the utter perfection of this plot. In fact, Annûn wondered if she would ever be able to come up with anything to top it, so magnificent would this endeavour prove.

"Out with it," demanded Lothanor. (Sunflower)

"Nay. We must convene Yejquv," insisted Annûn. "This is too important to discuss in the passage. I have determined the most fitting way to grant Tuiw his induction into Nost Othronn (House of the Underground Fortress). AND…" the youngest Raven paused dramatically to enjoy the effect as all her siblings leaned closer. "I have the perfect trial for Tulus as well. She will either prove herself worthy to join us or Sîr will realise his error in choosing her and cease his courting."

"Tulus? Why bother with her? We do not even know if Sîr is really contemplating bonding with her," groused Gwirithiel. (April Daughter)

"What does it matter? She has harmed our Tawarwaith, has she not? Poor Legolas had to endure one of Naneth's dreadful lectures," groaned Orgilion.

"And no doubt there is other punishment as well, which we will learn of on the morrow from Galu. Legolas tells him everything. I agree; Tulus has earned the censure of Nost Othronn on behalf of our muindor laes (baby brother)." Doronlass had no qualms about subjecting the unsuspecting maiden to his sister's scheme.

"Nasan," intoned Lothanor. "Sui iarwain sí, canin Yejquv." (So be it. As the oldest here, I call High Council.)

Silently all the children of Thranduil filed into a room on the right. They gathered loosely in its centre and then Menelfân called out: "Tegi calad!" (Bring light!) and upon his command all the torches flared brightly, for as one of Oropher's descendants he had inherited the gift for this sort of magic, even if he was officially a Lord among his Naneth's clan of the Hawk.

Each Elf waited for Annûnfaen to speak, for no further prompting was required. Yejquv had been called and enough members of Nost Othronn were present to fulfil quorum, though it was unusual to do so without the entire compliment of its members.

The Raven daughter met each of her siblings' expectant faces with smug delight. "Here we stand in the bowels of our Orod Im'elaidh. (Mountain amid the Trees) Deep are the tunnels and the caverns situated; deeper still are the shafts and veins of our mines. We are all aware that sometimes unpleasant things are found in such dark and abyssal zones of Arda. Things so old that Greenwood seems a meadow of saplings in comparison and even Eirien but an elfling, though she has lived since the time of the Awakening."

"There are no monsters asleep in our mountain, muinthel, (sister)" scoffed Fêrlass, but his eyes were very wide and bright in the firelight. It occurred to him that he had often overheard the miners telling such tales when they were off duty and resting in the gardens. His chore in the kitchens no longer seemed quite as onerous.

"Oh? I say, no one can be certain of that," countered Annûn. "I say, let us assume that there is indeed a terrible creature hidden in the depths of our fortress. Legolas shall learn of it and he shall prove both his courage and his wits by defeating this vile creature. Furthermore, he shall redeem his lost honour over the unintended slight to the House of the Black Boa by rescuing Tulus from the clutches of this hideous fiend. The Tawarwaith shall destroy Oropher's Bane, the Balrog of Mirkwood."

Annûnfaen gloated, contemplating the stunned expressions that met her inspection. Her siblings stood with dazed and uncertain features, some gaping openly, others eying her shrewdly, some frowning in worry. It was precisely the reaction she had wished to provoke and she could hardly wait to reveal the details of her elaborate plan.

TBC  


> #### ~ Note 12/27/2011 ~ Another slight style change. Hope to get back to this someday. My deepest gratitude for everyone who has shared their love of this tale with me :=)

  
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	14. Chapter 14

Un-Beta'd from this point on. Italics indicate thoughts.

XIII. Together We Will Smite Our Foes

 

Erestor sighed, a deep, long exhale of supreme relaxation as every smidgen of care, worry, concern, and botheration dissipated, evaporating from his body amid the curling ribbons of steam lifting off the surface of the hot, mineral-rich water. He was alone, steeping in blissful, wilful ignorance of whatever intrigues, plots, pranks, or jests were brewing in King Thranduil's rather volatile household, simply grateful for this chance to recoup the energy exhausted over the course of the lengthy (as in minuial to annûn), lively, and moderately contentious diplomatic sessions spent with Greenwood's trio of Councillors. Oh, the Ladies were certainly gracious, courteous, and congenial enough, but they were also shrewd, calculating, and canny.

The wily seneschal to Elrond Half-elven, veteran of uncounted councils, diets, assemblies, and panels, that glib raconteur famous for his ability to outwit and/or out-palaver the wisest, most venerable, most exalted, and mightiest leaders on Arda, had been negotiating with Thranduil's wives for two days straight without securing the necessary unanimous agreement from the three Queens. Rarely had he encountered such discerning, astute, and farsighted opponents. It was rather like arguing with Mithrandir or Galadriel. His normally calm and collected demeanour of reserved and impassive nobility was starting to erode, revealing too much of his rattled, exasperated, and thoroughly flummoxed faculties. 

And yet, Erestor was not disappointed to find his usual strategy of dextrous finesse producing negligible effect. Truth be told, he loved it. He had not had this much fun since the early Second Age whilst mediating the distribution of land and power in Lindon between the vestigial Sindarin nobility of Doriath, their Noldorin counterparts, and the refugees of Gondolin. Yes, he was pleasantly surprised to find his cunning statesmanship stonewalled, astounded to behold his artful command of language thwarted, intrigued to observe his adroit use of subtle psychological and emotional manipulation succinctly rebuffed, and delightfully annoyed to have his brilliant capacity for reversing opposition overturned. Convincing these sylvan matrons to support the initiative of the White Council was rather like trying to forge steel in the flame of a single candle. 

_Precisely the sort of challenge I was born to conquer. It seems I must truly thank Glorfindel for this opportunity. I did not realise how boring Imladris had become, from a political standpoint._

Another languid sigh escaped into the bathing chamber, echoing through the vaulted space and sending a delicate swirl of sweetly scented mist cavorting up toward the ceiling. Erestor reclined, head propped upon a rolled towel at the rim of the pool, and opened his eyes, having shut them to reanalyse the day's meeting in an attempt to determine a weakness to exploit on the morrow, and stared upon a soothing scene that brought an unbidden smile to his lips. The entire roof of the cavern depicted a soft blue sky adorned with fluffy clouds of pristine white and a pair of soaring song birds, species indeterminate as the avians appeared in vague silhouette. The frazzled advisor's grin broadened as his gaze travelled the curve of the dome bounding the salon. 

Every bit of natural stone was sheathed from sight, the entire room tiled in a manner similar to that found on the floor of the Chamber of Starlight. These lovely ceramics were not green, however. From shoulder height down all were glazed a crisp, bright white while those above were stained to imitate the vibrant blue of an early summer sky. Here and there along the walls a butterfly appeared in exquisite detail or a bed of poppies bloomed. On one lone tile a red and gold dragon fly seemed poised above the heated pool. Between these two zones of earth and air a checkered border of pale yellow squares ran around the circumference of the oval spa and the floor was paved in larger versions of saffron tile. The advisor realised this room displayed another representation of the sylvans' unique philosophy of the triple balance, for the water of the bath supplied the third element of Arda.

Erestor chuckled, enjoying how the cheerful sound chased around the room and bounced off the ceiling, returning to him in a higher, younger tone. He liked the King's baths immensely, he decided, though the subterranean thermae was rather less sophisticated in decoration than his private bathing chamber back in Imladris. There his tall, enamelled tub was ensconced in cool, elegant marble and brass appointed luxury. This private spa was whimsical and blithe and carefree. Most certainly designed with the youngest of Thranduil's offspring in mind. He could easily imagine Legolas paddling around in the pool with his Ada or one of his brothers watching over him. Even the youngest Lady of the Raven House was probably not too grown up to appreciate the light-hearted atmosphere. 

On that first night in Mirkwood, he had felt insulted when Galion led him to the secluded room, deeming the decorations beneath his august station as Elrond's kinsman and Chief Counsellor, but the butler had patiently explained that it was this or the public baths down the hall, from which quite a bit of boisterous talk and laughter could be discerned, including that of Cugu and Toloth. He was certainly not going to bathe with them. Erestor had grudgingly thanked the ancient sylvan for such hospitality and resigned himself to the minor indignity of washing in the elflings' spa. It was better than being gawked at by every common Wood Elf in Mirkwood. Once in the soothing water, he found himself charmed by the room's decor.

The esteemed seneschal to the Last Homely House laughed and kicked his feet in the water, relishing the consistent warmth, and had to admit there was nothing like this in Elrond's home. A small fountain dispensed a trickle of cool liquid to mix with the heated fluid and prevent it becoming too hot for comfort. An evenly spaced series of rectangular drains ringed the bath to maintain the liquid level just so. The water must empty into a common cistern somewhere below, he reasoned, where it was pumped back up again to spill through the little spigot. It was an ingenious design and while he was not an engineer, Erestor could envision the plumbing required must be both extensive and complicated. He could not deny that he was impressed.

A brief wave of sympathy for the poor underlings assigned to oversee the baths swept through his thoughts. It must be tedious work to keep the fires going beneath the pools and he could only imagine the weary strain resulting from continuously working the pumps. Then he shrugged; someone had to do it and the folk attending his needs in fair Imladris were not unhappy, so why should Wood Elves mind such a task? 

Erestor splashed around and ducked under the surface, freeing a bubbly giggle upon viewing the bottom of the bath, which was tiled to look like the bottom of a lake with little pebbles, crabs. snails, and water plants decorating the pale green squares. The only thing missing was a set of toy boats and little wooden ducks. Ah well, I shall have to remember to ask Legolas where they are kept for next time. He returned to free air, hair plastered to head and shoulders, and reached for the soap. Someone out in the public pools was humming a bawdy tune and since he knew the words Erestor decided to sing along, lifting his magnificent voice to full volume as he scrubbed. In no time distant voices joined him, albeit a beat or two behind, and the cavern echoed with the lascivious lyrics.

"…well it could have been worse, he said with a leer,  
but that's what you get, my darling, my dear  
for trying to make love on the back of a horse…" 

Sang Erestor in a baritone rich and full and loud. Very Loud. Much Too Loud to hear the footsteps of an approaching elf. The heavy curtain was abruptly thrown back and the resulting void immediately filled with the tall, commanding presence of Thranduil himself, dressed in rugged hunting garb, sans boots. Erestor made a most undignified noise through his nose and turned a deep shade of red, which he tried to hide by ducking his head under water for a second or two. He surfaced to find Thranduil facing the wall.

"You are in here, just as Galion reported. I did not believe him and when I heard someone singing that ditty I thought one of the guards was drunk and accidentally invaded my private bath. Please forgive my intrusion," he apologised quickly, unable to prevent a hint of mirth from invading his words.

"I see," Erestor was not sure how to react, caught between embarrassment and amused disbelief. He sighed and decided to give in to whimsy. The tale of Thranduil's Private Bath was certain to become a much favoured anecdote upon his return to Imladris. He almost wished he had a witness, for who would believe that the fierce Sindarin King of the wild, uncivilised Wood Elves attended his daily ablutions in such a quaint pool? Mayhap I should give those pebbles a second look; they might be real gems at that. Erestor smiled. "No harm done, King Thranduil, and there is no need to be concerned about my modesty. Please turn around that we may converse more easily."

"Most gracious of you, Lord Erestor," Thranduil did as asked, his eyes alight with merriment. "I must say, you folk of Imladris certainly do like your bathing time. You have been in here so long I was beginning to worry that you had drowned." The leonine monarch was smiling quite cheekily.

"Ah," said Erestor. "I must compliment you on the quality of this lovely spa. I apologise for loosing track of the time, but really the fault must be yours for constructing so relaxing an environment that I hate to leave it too soon. Am I late for an appointment of some sort?"

"Yes. I regret disturbing you and would not do so unless necessary," Thranduil continued. "We must be going, however, or we will never get the very best ones. I simply will not abide coming in last place, especially with Lord Gaearon participating. He won last year and never lets a chance to brag about it pass by unavailed. Do you think you will be ready soon?" Thranduil asked, a hopeful cast to his comely countenance.

Erestor stared, desperately trying to recall what the King was talking about. He hated to admit it but he had no memory of being invited to this particular event. It sounded like a contest; surely he would remember that? Well, whatever it was, forgetting it was simply unacceptable. He did not want the Sindarin royal to deem him either dim-witted or disinterested. Yet despite his concerns, the seneschal's curiosity was piqued, for Thranduil's manner was certainly unusual in an elf with so many cares and woes. For all his daunting strength and majesty and underlying grief, at this moment he reminded Erestor very much of the little golden-haired elfling prince. The mighty King of the Wood Elves could scarcely contain his excited anticipation and Elrond's kinsman smiled to see it.

"I can be ready in mere minutes, Your Majesty," he replied. "I need only to wash my hair."

"Oh, must you?" Thranduil was positively petulant. "Just comb it through; surely it cannot be that dirty after being washed only yesterday. We must hurry, mellon, or I promise we will regret it. The honour of Imladris is at stake! Would you have it that Lord Elrond's realm fails to place among the top ten in tomorrow's tournament?"

"What? Nay!" Erestor tossed aside the soap and leaped from the water at once, both alarmed and intrigued. Whatever this challenge might be, archery, swords, lances, or even tree-climbing, he was duty bound to represent his country and his kinsman to the very best of his ability. He dried off and dressed quickly, working through his long black tresses with such speed that he actually snapped a few strands in the process. Just as he reached for his hose and shoes, Thranduil stopped him.

"Forego your foot-gear, Erestor. Trust me, where we are going you will not want it. And please remember to address me by name; no titles stand between us." He smiled at Erestor's befuddled look, well aware that the serious statesman had no idea what was going on as Thranduil had not mentioned the event before. Well, perhaps he was having a bit of fun at the Noldorin Lord's expense, but it was not anything that would embarrass or offend the worthy advisor. Much.

"Indeed? Well, if you deem it wise then of course I shall go discalced. Lead on for I am prepared." Erestor hoped this response was sufficiently forceful to impress his host while remaining sufficiently vague to conceal his lapse of memory. Still, he could not suppress a nervous mental twinge of trepidation to note a distinctly devilish gleam appear in the King's eyes.

He followed Thranduil out of the baths and through the labyrinthine corridors of the stronghold, rising in elevation so that he knew they must be nearing ground-level. Sure enough, they turned a corner and a dim glow appeared at the end of the tunnel, too diffuse to be torch or lamp light; they were going outside. They had traversed the way in silence but as soon as they emerged into the open air of the kitchen gardens, Thranduil turned and addressed the counsellor.

"We are nearly too late. See? Already they are moving out in pairs to secure the best ground. Come, we must officially register you and assign you a partner. I hope you do not mind teaming up with my Dragon son, Galu?" Thranduil motioned toward a small table set up near the entrance to the cook's domain. Behind it two official looking elves sat before a large sheaf of vellum and around it buzzed a large knot of Wood Elves, of both Sindarin and sylvan extraction, all dressed similarly to their King. Close by the novice warrior just named was lingering alone, looking terribly uncomfortable and downcast.

"I would be honoured to have him as my companion for this endeavour," announced Erestor, noting that the collected elves were watching and listening keenly whilst pretending no interest whatsoever.

They were noble Lords of the various Houses of the Woodland realm. Lords exclusively, none of the much revered and powerful Ladies of the Clans were present. Everyone was dressed in rough clothes suitable for trekking through the trees, shoeless, and Erestor felt a little out of place in his fine silk trousers and satin tunic embroidered with symbols of the sea. His presence produced quite a stir and a sizeable crowd gathered to watch him register. All fell silent and bowed when the King reached the table, including the two elves seated at the desk who rose from their chairs in order to do so.

Thranduil nodded amiably and took the quill offered him. "I will be competing for the House of Tawar with Legolas, Tawarwaith and youngest Prince of Greenwood, for my partner," he announced and signed the form with great delight amid the approving applause of the assembled elves. He stepped aside for Erestor and signalled for Galu to come forward. The sullen youth did so, head high but bearing a pained expression that marred his comely features. Thranduil wrapped a strong arm about his son's shoulders and presented an encouraging smile.

Meanwhile, Erestor was signing the forms. "I, Erestor of Imladris, will compete for the House of Eärendil. I humbly beseech Galurem, Dragon Prince of Greenwood, to consent to be my partner and aid me to victory in this event." He held out his hand to the wary elf and noted the pleased expression that reworked Galurem's visage.

"I accept your invitation, Lord Erestor, in the spirit of fostering the new accord between our separate realms," Galu said loudly and stepped free of his Adar to grasp the foreigner's arm in warriors' salute. 

He ignored the low murmur of displeasure arising amid the Foxes, for he was really relieved not to have to face the shame of being publicly shunned by his grandfather's people. For the first time, he had turned the tables and snubbed them. Plus, he liked being called 'Greenwood's Dragon Prince'. It had a bold and vaguely menacing ring to it and he decided at once that henceforth it would be the motto on his insignia and his seal of signature. To Mordor with those bloody Foxes! I renounce them here and now. He checked his father's reaction and found the King's features almost bursting with pride. A single nod of approval raised Galu's spirits to joy and he completely forgot how much he had been prepared to disdain and scoff at this semi-annual event.

Now Erestor missed none of this and his heart went out to the young warrior, recalling all he had been told of the Fox Clan's prejudice against the offspring of poly-bonded couples, determined to win more for Galu's sake than for Elrond's. At the same time, the seneschal felt truly honoured, for Thranduil had entrusted him with a most delicate situation: the protection of Dragon Prince's status and the bolstering of Galu's wavering self-esteem. This was surely an indication that the Wood Elves' King was not opposed to the notion of fostering his children to the noble Houses of the other elven realms. Recalling the effect of participating in the orc hunt upon arriving in Mirkwood, Erestor decided he simply must come in first, thereby proving his willingness to fully embrace the unique culture of the woodland realm, whatever this mysterious competition might involve. 

He leaned close to the auburn-haired warrior and whispered too low for other ears: "I shall depend upon you to guide me, Galu, for I have no idea what kind of tournament I have just entered."

"Be assured," Galu whispered back, "our team shall not win but we will come in just behind the House of Tawar, for since Curóniel's death Legolas' team always takes first. This is by tacit collusion among the noble Houses. Since he is too little to participate fully, one of the family clans competes for Tuiw's House instead of their own. Last year the Ravens had the honour of first place, but the real contest is for the number two spot." He straightened and sent the seneschal a fierce grin.

"Have you your own equipment, Lord Erestor?" asked a tall, dark-haired Lord. Undeniably one of the many descendants of the Lost Twins of Doriath, this ellon leaned upon a spade as he spoke, smiling in genuine goodwill at his many-times-removed cousin from Imladris. "I am Gaearon, Hîr Vain o Noss Craban (Primary Lord of the House of the Ravens). It is a privilege to meet you; long have I been curious about my cousins across Hithaeglir."

"The honour is mine," Erestor dipped his head politely. "It is my hope, and indeed my purpose here, to open the way for satisfying that curiosity."

"Worry not, Lord Gaearon," Galu interrupted the pleasantries and brought the nobles back to the more immediate purpose of the tournament. "I will ensure your kinsman has all that is required to succeed. Prepare to be trounced quite soundly."

"Oh indeed? Would you care to wager on that bold proclamation of superiority, Ernil Amlug (Dragon Prince)?" asked Gaearon, eager to reinforce the new appellation, for he was among the many who deplored the unfair denigration imposed by the Foxes. In the past, the Ravens had participated in this unjust discrimination as well and he was determined to root out the unseemly practice once and for all. He would have petitioned to adopt Galurem into the Ravens had Thranduil not already recognised him as a Lord of the Beeches. Yet now it would seem a new House was arising: Noss Amlug od Eryngalen (House of the Greenwood Dragon), thanks to the seneschal from Imladris.

"Of course we will wager," laughed Galurem. "Long have I admired that fine dagger of yours. Are you confident enough to risk losing it?"

"I will not be risking anything, Galu. You are the one who should be cautious of boasts and brags, for you are the one about to lose that superbly crafted bone-handled hunting knife strapped to your belt. That is, if you still wish to gamble." Gaearon was grinning as he pointed to the weapon.

"Done!" exclaimed Galu.

"Wait," Erestor objected. "I want to know who your partner is for the contest first."

"I am," a voice behind them answered. Galu, Thranduil, and Erestor turned to find Fêrlass standing in much the same stance as his Raven cousin, a long-handled shovel in his hand.

"I shall beat you this year, Raven Dancer," growled Galu.

"Only in your juvenile imagination are such fantasies plausible," sneered the Raven Prince, lip curled in abject disdain, "but should you succeed I will give you my new pair of boots for I know how greatly you covet them. I shall lay claim to your fine ruby broach, however, so be prepared to suffer your Naneth's rage."

"Nay, no heirlooms may be wagered," Thranduil quickly intervened before Galu exploded in outrage, for he knew of the brewing sibling civil war. "That gem is matchless and has been in the Dragon Clan since before the First Age. Come now, Fêrlass, you know that is neither a fair nor proper bet."

"Aye. I offer my humble apologies," he said with an exaggerated bow to his brother. "What then will you put in the pot?"

"I think it is only right, since Galurem is competing for the House of Eärendil, that I provide the counter claim," said Erestor. "Though it is not on my person at the moment, I possess a dagger forged by Celebrimbor himself. It is no relic of my House, yet is still a worthy article. What say you to that, Raven Dancer?"

Shooting a quick glance to his cohort in the tournament to ensure his support, Fêrlass nodded. "I accept your wager, Lord Erestor. I wish you good fortune for you will have great need of it." 

"Hah! You must be blind in the dark, for I already have Many Blessings at my right hand," reproved Erestor. "Pray instead for your own trials."

"And I have a worthy veteran of the wars of Beleriand at mine," added Galurem, elated for all to hear the famous counsellor's confident words. "You will not finish ahead of us."

"We shall see," intoned Gaearon and bowed to Thranduil as he and Fêrlass left, heaving their shovels on their shoulder as they went.

"Well played," remarked Thranduil, laying his hand firmly on his Dragon son's shoulder. "Yet your team-mate has no gear at all and I have not fetched mine either. Let us get our spades and go or all the best spots will be claimed. Should that befall us, then no matter how great our skill the contest will be lost for certain."

"Ai! Legolas would be terribly upset, Adar; that must not happen," Galu said. He tugged Erestor's arm to get him in motion and led the way to one of the many outbuildings surrounding the stronghold. Inside were various gardening implements, including an exceptionally large number of digging tools of different sizes and for different uses. The Dragon Prince selected a sturdy looking spade with a broad rounded blade and held it out to Erestor. "This one should suit your height well enough."

"My thanks," replied the advisor, taking it somewhat gingerly in hand, wondering if the contest involved tunnelling or ditch-digging or harvesting truffles. 

Thranduil hefted a blunt-edged shovel and Galu took a more pointed one, each smiling in conspiratorial delight as if these simple items were great and powerful weapons the nature of which was secret. Erestor began to wonder if perhaps that was so, considering the magic he had already witnessed, and gripped his a little tighter. Then Galu handed out small dark-lanterns and canvas bags with shoulder straps. Erestor accepted these graciously, thoroughly mystified yet still unwilling to admit his ignorance to the King.

"Ready?" asked Thranduil, smiling with unhidden glee as he lit all the lanterns and slid the covers down to conceal the bright light.

"Aye. Lead on," Erestor answered boldly and followed them into the night.

They strode purposefully across the grounds and through the gardens, navigated diagonally over the barracks and training fields, and finally plunged into the dark of the woods. They did not speak and their naked feet made no noise. Erestor was grateful that Thranduil was ahead of him with Galu at his back, for he was almost instantly lost, his normal sense of direction erased by the close cover of the mighty trees and the lack of illumination. He stumbled in the murk, muffling a curse as his bare big toe collided with a root, or something else equally unyielding, stepped back onto a dry twig which snapped with a loud report, hopped off it right onto a particularly large, hard and pointy thing that was either an acorn or a rock, and yelped.

"Shhhh!" the Dragon Prince and the Sindarin King hissed, one of them reaching out to steady the staggering Noldorin nobleman.

"What are you doing?" Thranduil's agitated whisper wafted close to Erestor's ear. "They will hear you."

"Sorry," the seneschal shrugged unhappily, worried a bit about what manner of animal his blundering may have alerted. He lifted his eyes to the hidden network of branches, seeing nothing but imagining the legendary Mirkwood spiders lurking overhead. The urge to flee was strong and countered only by his dread of shaming himself. That and the rugged nature of the unseen path. If there is a path at all. He really could not understand why he had to go without his shoes in such wild terrain and wondered how tough the soles of his companions' feet must be to endure such hazards. Either that or they can see in the dark.

"It is pointless to continue; this site is useless for they will all have fled at the first disturbance," Galu's harsh words were faint but packed with disappointed disgust. "We must move on to the secondary location."

"Agreed," said Thranduil and turned in a new direction, this time keeping a firm hold upon his guest's arm to spare him further mishap.

They walked a long time, or at least it seemed like a long time to Erestor, unaccustomed to prowling about in the pitch of night in the deep of an enchanted wood. All around him he could hear the scurrying and shuffling of nocturnal critters fleeing from their advance. Every now and then, a silent shadow glided past his head and he instinctively ducked low, not realising it was but an owl. Once, he thought he heard other elves moving about and caught the distant gleam of a lantern. That was followed by a squishy sort of thud and vaguely maniacal cackling. Then Thranduil tugged him sharply left and the way ahead suddenly brightened. He heard the faint sound of water flowing and spied a little clearing beside a small brook. His next step made an unpleasant sort of squelching sound and Erestor had to bite back the cry that rose to his lips as his leg plunged up to the knee in cold, reeking, marshy mud.

They had stumbled into a bog. 

Panic gripped the advisor's heart and he dug his fingers into Thranduil's arm, tugging with all his might to yank his leg free. The limb came loose with a sucking pop but the force had been too great and Erestor over-balanced, landing on his rear in the vile soup. He could not hold back the shout of disgust and real fear that fled his lungs as his body quickly submerged in the viscous stuff all the way up to his breast-bone.

"Valar! Pull him up!" cried Galu, casting aside his shovel and lamp to grab Erestor's other arm.

"What do you think I am attempting to do?" snapped Thranduil between gasps and grunts. With a mighty heave they yanked Erestor upright and the King nearly went over backward himself but for Galu's quick snatch of his tunic. They all stood panting and clinging to one another, the Noldorin Lord once more on solid ground. Finally, Erestor found his voice.

"What are you trying to do to me?" he demanded, not a little peeved to be wet and stinking and he was sure some kind of crawling thing had crawled inside his pants leg. It bit him with sharp needle-like teeth just below the knee and Erestor jumped. He swatted at the stinging spot and shook his leg frantically and a very large black worm slithered out and slank away. "Ugh! This is intolerable!"

"I am sorry, mellonen, but I had no idea you would have this sort of difficulty manoeuvring through the forest," Thranduil placated.

"Please lower your voices," warned Galu. "This spot is now also ruined. Lord Erestor, I thought you wanted to win this contest?"

"What? Yes, but no one explained that I would be traipsing through swamps and swimming in quick-mud," fussed the seneschal.

"A good hot bath will fix all, will it not?" the King soothed. "The reward is well worth this small discomfort."

"Small discomfort?" Erestor was miffed to hear his heart-stopping experience so trivialised.

"Aye, everyone in Greenwood gets stuck in the mud at least once, even the very best trackers," said Galu. "You cannot seriously be considering quitting before we have collected even a single one."

"Especially since you had one and just let it go," complained Thranduil. "You dropped your spade, too, and now it has gone under the surface."

"Had one? What are you talking about?"

"We shall have to risk the light," sighed Galu. He uncovered his lantern just a sliver and gasped. "Look! Adar, they seem to like Lord Erestor's disturbance after all."

"Indeed! That or they like Lord Erestor. Mellon, do you think you could step back in the mud? I promise to hold on to you tightly," the King smiled as if this was a perfectly reasonable request.

Thranduil sounded very pleased and quite serious and Erestor wished he had his shovel for he would dearly love to bash the grinning Sindarin Lord over the head with it. "You must be mad," he said.

"Lord Erestor, do not move," whispered Galu as he slowly crouched low. "There is one trying to get to your toe."

Erestor looked down at his foot to find an even larger black worm flashing its ivory teeth at him. Just before he could lift his heel and squash it, his Dragon partner snatched it up and dropped it in the canvas bag. It was then he noticed the ground moving.

"Excellent, we have no need to dig up their burrows," breathed Galu softly. "They all want a taste of our guest. Foreign blood attracts them, I suppose. At this rate we shall fill our sacks in minutes." He hastily nabbed the wriggling crawlers as they converged upon the seneschal from Imladris, who was carefully inching away, minding the bog, of course.

"Aye. Move a bit to the right, Erestor, there are two trying to sneak up on your ankle," encouraged Thranduil, stooping to aid in gathering up the fabled blue carnivorous mere-worms of Mirkwood. "Ai! One got me."

"You are getting too slow for this game, Ada," snickered Galu.

"I was bitten, too," groused Erestor. "They are not poisonous, are they?"

The King and his Prince shared a look and then trained their eyes upon the visiting nobleman, Galu lifting the lantern so to grant the advisor full view of their matched, incredulous expressions.

"Ah, yes. Silly thing to ask," Erestor laughed nervously. _This is Mirkwood; of course the earthworms have sharp teeth and poison venom._

"No need to be alarmed, it is not potent enough to cause sickness much less death," assured Thranduil. "The only way you might die is if you just stood there and allowed all of them to slink up and sink their teeth in. They do not eat flesh, you see, they just want to suck your blood. The wound will itch for a few days but we have an ointment that works well enough."

"Aye, for Wood Elves," intoned Galu, suddenly concerned. "We have long Ages ago become acclimated to the many types of poisons found here. Erestor has never even visited before and I am quite sure there are no mere-worms like this in Imladris. What if he has a severe reaction?"

Both royals rose and uncovered their lanterns fully, not caring that the bright light scared away the nocturnal creepers, and examined Erestor's face closely.

"You are joking, certainly," Erestor smiled weakly as he looked from one to the other.

"Nay," said Thranduil. "Galu may be right. Please believe me; I had no intention of putting you in harm's way, Lord Erestor."

"Do you feel at all strange?" asked Galu.

Standing shoeless in the gloomy woods with his fine clothes ruined and plastered to his cold, wet skin; covered in swamp slime and the most noxious smelling mud he had ever smelled, with a burning, itching potentially fatal mere-worm bite on his leg, Erestor remained silent. 

"Right," said Thranduil briskly, gathering up their discarded spades and snatching the tail end of one last worm before it could disappear underground. "This collecting trip is done. We must get back and have the healer give you a general antidote, just to be safe."

No further discussion took place and the three hunters hurried back to the stronghold. Erestor found himself truly frightened, for the King's haste and Galu's silence combined to make him dread the worst. Fortunately, Thranduil knew a quicker means back to his underground castle for the seneschal lost feeling in his foot just as the lights of the courtyard came into view. He was whisked away to the infirmary, had to endure being stripped and bathed by strangers, though they were healers and entirely clinical in their procedure, and then was made to drink down a truly vile potion that tasted more like troll dung than anything the advisor had ever consumed before, except troll dung. Just as the sun was rising he was settled in a nice clean bed in a private ward and left alone to wallow in his misery. No sooner had the healers left him than Galu entered, taking a seat by the Noldorin Lord's bedside.

"The antidote was administered in time," he announced happily. "You will not lose your foot after all."

"I am pleased to hear it," grumbled Erestor, "but I would much rather be in my own rooms just now. Do you think you could help me escape from here?"

"Not a chance! I know better than to disobey the law of the infirmary. I have to come here if I become injured, remember, and I can tell you from experience that these healing folk are quite merciless when it comes to enforcing their prescriptions. I know for a fact they once had Adar tied to the bed frame when he was bitten by a warg, for he insisted on trying to leave before he was officially released."

"Now that must have been something to see," chuckled Erestor, feeling much better about his confinement. He smiled at Galu, realising the youth had probably invented that tale just to cheer him up, and wished he had not spoiled their chance to win the competition. "I am sorry we had to stop so soon. I imagine our catch of mere-worms will be far below that of the other hunters."

"Aye, but the number of worms is not really the deciding factor in who wins and who loses," informed Galu. "There are other types of bait to use and much depends upon locating the richest spawning grounds. Fear not; we shall come out ahead of those Ravens."

Erestor was silent a moment or two as he processed the words 'bait' and 'spawning' and their inescapable connotations. He shuddered, imagining the sort of water creature that chose to lay eggs in the murky waters flowing through the shadows beneath the dark, twisted trees. "You are telling me the contest was not to see who could collect the most worms?"

"Of course not!" Galu snorted. "What skill is required in that? Nay, the competition is what you suspect: a fish hunt. We go to harvest Daer Caran Lanthir Cabedron (Great Red Waterfall Leaper). They return twice a year to the lower cataracts of the Central Mountains, there to mate and raise their young. I have already asked the healers and they are certain you will be fit enough to man the nets."

"How delightful," mumbled Erestor. his smile slipping into a sickly parody of Galu's beautific grin. 

TBC

~ Note 01/07/2008 ~ BALROG UPDATED! I can hardly believe it myself. This scene has been in my head so long I almost believed I had actually written it out somewhere. One thing you may notice, Galu was described as brunet in the Roster, but I just can't see him that way in my mind. Back when I wrote that little run down on the siblings, he wasn't as much a part of the story. It was all going to be about Ferlass, Annûn, and Sîrgel as far as the sibs go, all their interaction revolving around Legolas, of course. Galu became more important in the chapter before this, however, as some might have noted. I've given him auburn hair now. {shrugs.} Can't help it, I really like red hair. 

Also, I apologise for stopping here, there is quite a bit more, of course, and Little Legolas did not get to make an appearance. He is foremost in the next part, along with Cugu and Toloth, which I shall try to post next weekend. This chapter sets the stage for an important event describing how the divided power system in Greenwood operates and what exactly Thranduil's role in government is. And of course, we have the first stirrings of the Sibling Civil War. My deepest gratitude for everyone who has shared their love of this tale with me!

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	15. Chapter 15

##### Un-Beta'd  _Italics indicate thoughts._

### XIV. Ask Me No More Questions

  
"It is a challenge, Tuiw, a part of your initiation. There must be three trials endured to earn your place in Noss Othronn and you have accomplished only one thus far."

"Though it was admittedly spectacular, the joke on Tulus and Sîrgel was unintentional and thus not quite as compelling."

"So you can understand that Yejquv (High Council) was most generous in allowing that one to count at all."

The stalwart Hawk princes of Greenwood counselled their baby brother in the playroom/library/classroom adjoining the nursery. The large chamber was sufficient in size to accommodate six children at the table for lessons with sufficient floor space remaining for indoor play. Herein was housed a truly gargantuan collection of toys handed down from all Thranduil's progeny, from the first bold Prince Tuamdir (Strong Hope) to the youngest Raven Princess, all had donated the beloved articles of their elfling days to delight and distract the very last of the King's offspring. Indeed, there was even a set of carved wooden animals said to have been Oropher's when he was but a child. 

The playthings were of every kind imaginable and probably some that would surprise the folk of Lorien or Imladris, for in past Ages the Woodland Realm had traded with peoples far and wide, from Lindon to the Sea of Rhûn. Actually, they traded with Dwarven merchants whose sturdy caravans transported goods to and fro along the Forest Road. Through these resourceful intermediaries, Greenwood's elflings had received everything from simple spinning tops and rubber bouncing balls to elaborate key-wound mechanical devices that played music or simulated an animal's natural motions and sounds. 

There were hopping frogs and fluttering velvet-winged butterflies, chirping birds and stags that really locked horns. There was an ensemble of dwarvish musicians that played a lively dancing tune on bizarre, pleated instruments that were neither plucked, blown, nor thumped. Instead the figurines' hands alternately squeezed and pulled to create the funny, piping tones. There was a fair elven maiden that danced to a much loved hymn to Yavanna. There was even a set of nested magnifying lenses ground from calcite crystals meant to enhance keen elven sight. Much had changed since Thranduil assumed the throne but the overflowing shelves and trunks provided ample evidence of the once thriving commerce enjoyed by the forest's royal children.

Legolas gazed up at his brothers from his spot on the floor in the centre of a vast array of miniature trees, elves, dwarves, orcs, forest animals, humans, dragons, trolls, and even a hobbit or two, each one painstakingly placed amid the correct location for its kind, though the hobbits were granted an elaborate castle more suited to men, since the Tawarwaith knew little of their true culture. Most of the orcs and trolls were grouped together within the trees, surrounded by a great host of elven archers such that the fiends were obviously doomed. The men were busy trying to stave off a dragon horde threatening their villages and the dwarves were occupied with another orcish army invading their mountain kingdom, from which real smoke could be made to vent from the peak if a little candle hidden within its heart was lit. The Tawarwaith's brow creased in distress and he glanced back to his toys, shifting a troop of human cavalry so that they would flank the invading fire drakes. Legolas idolised his Hawk brothers but this was a hard choice they set before him.

"I did not mean to upset Tulus and Sîr at all. That should not be counted as one of the initiation tests anyway," he said softly, glancing up with swift and pleading eyes to note how this would be received.

"Yejquv has decided; there is nothing you can do about it now. In any case, whether you accept our proposal or not there will be yet another to face, perhaps even more difficult to complete," advised Orgilion, elder of the Hawk Princes and middle son of Thranduil and Ithiloth. 

"What about the Tainted Porridge? I did not tell anyone; it is not my fault that Eirien showed up and discovered everything." Legolas felt he had done his utmost to see the difficult situation through without revealing Fêrlass' unsavoury adjustments to the normal recipe. "That one should have counted." 

It was just past dawn and all the night-stalkers had returned with their shovels and bags, some more laden with worms than others, and nearly the entire population of the city was preparing for Lim Rui (Fish Hunt). The Hawk Princes were not partnering with anyone, however, for they were among those assigned the task of weighing and counting each team's catch. They stood in their youngest sibling's playroom trying to talk Legolas into mischief. As the warrior princes recalled it, they were never so reticent about causing mayhem as Tuiw and this was surely an indication of the elfling's burdened spirit.

Orgilion looked down upon his baby brother with a solemn and serious countenance, using his most imposingly formidable impression of their Adar he could contrive. The effect was not so laudable as he might have wished for Legolas just stared back at him with those huge innocent blue eyes, no doubt the most formidable display of irresistible adorability possible for an elfling to generate. The fearless captain sighed and turned from the mesmerising gaze, shutting his eyes as he rubbed lightly at his forehead. When he opened them again, Orgilion trained his sight upon the younger Hawk brother in mute appeal.

"Legolas, you do want to belong to Noss Othronn?" asked Menelfân, taking his cue and crouching down on his heels to meet the little one face to face, careful not to topple over any of the miniatures. 

"Aye, you know I do."

"Then first and foremost you must be willing to accept the rulings of Yejquv. The plot was discovered and your chance to prevail removed. Who caused that to happen does not matter."

"But why did you choose this task, Men'fân?" came the child's plaintive query.

"It is perfect," insisted Orgilion, answering for his brother and hunkering down to Legolas' level, too. "Everyone is anticipating the fish hunt and paying little attention to anything else. No one is expecting another joke after the Avarin Ambush and the Unexpected Babe, especially not from you."

"Yet after your failure to endure the Tainted Porridge ordeal, two more tests must be successfully met. Our way is best. Just think how amazed our siblings will be to learn you were the one behind all the ruckus," added Menelfân.

"But I am not the one behind it; you two are," whined Legolas. "Eirien will scold me and Minui Nana will confine me to the nursery again. It took me an entire day to write that letter to Tulus even with Galu helping me. I do not want to do it!"

"No one will fuss at you. I promise to take the blame for it if Adar or Nana become upset. I am truly sorry she was so angry about that question you asked Tulus, but I could not intervene for it was solely your own doing. This time, the plot is ours but the daring and courage belong to you alone. What say you?" coaxed Menelfân.

Legolas looked from one to the other of his elder brothers, his personal heroes, and sighed heavily. He wanted more than anything to earn their approval and the right to membership in the House of the Underground Stronghold, but there were one or two ethical issues regarding this prank that just would not go away. 

"I just want to make sure none of them die or get hurt. Can you promise me that?" He spoke with that compelling tone of the Voice of Tawar and despite his clear and piping childish pitch the words were nonetheless imbued with a transcendent wisdom and compassion. Bright and piercing, his ageless eyes stared deeply into each of the Hawk Princes' souls to forestall falsehood or deception.

"Now, Tuiw, you know we would not want to put them at risk. Because of Lord Erestor's mishap, the healers have given Cugu and Toloth an antidote to protect them from sickness," reminded Orgilion.

"Aye, but I was not thinking of them so much."

"Well then what worries you? The were-worms? I know you understand that almost all will die during Lim Rui anyway. What difference can it possibly make if some of them perish a little earlier?" Orgilion reasoned.

"None, I guess," mumbled the unconvinced elfling, "but I really like Cugu and Toloth. Why does it have to happen to them?"

"They are foreigners and thus none of Greenwood's Houses can claim retribution. Plus, they are just warriors so Imladris cannot claim offence either. Besides, they found the Avarin Ambush quite amusing. The worst that can happen is Adar will give us another punishment," explained Menelfân patiently. 

He was quite eager to have this hoax succeed for several reasons. First, and most important, he was concerned about the stunt Annûnfaen was developing. The whole thing sounded fraught with potential danger and he did not want Legolas in harm's way. Second, the Hawk Plan was simply an excellent prank and it had been a very long while since he and Orgilion engineered and executed such a trick. He had begun to fear they were losing the respect of their siblings because of it. More than once Menelfân had been accused of being as grim and joyless as a First Age Elder even though he was the youngest of the Hawk princes. Third, their intent was to pin the entire caper on the Enemy Camp, as the Ravens and their Butterfly cohorts were now termed, for the siblings had divided over the Balrog Escapade: Dragons and Hawks against Ravens and Butterflies with the Tawarwaith caught in the middle. Of course, Legolas knew nothing about any of that and Menelfân hoped to keep it that way.

"They will be mad if they ever find out it was me," whimpered Legolas. "They will not like me anymore. They are my friends! Cugu ate the nasty porridge for me and Toloth let me hold one of his arrows and…"

"Ai, Legolas, how you go on! They will find it funny; trust me. They laughed about the joke on Tulus, did they not?" encouraged Orgilion. He gripped his baby brother's sagging shoulders and gave him a gentle squeeze, smiling into the worried little face.

"Aye, a little bit."

"Then stop fretting over it. Remember, we are taking the credit and thus the blame for the prank. Only at Yejquv (High Council) will we reveal your part in it and you are only responsible for carrying out orders. A well-trained warrior always obeys the orders of his commander. I am Captain of the North Patrol and Gilion is Captain of the Central Guard. We are both superior to you in rank, Tuiw," reminded Menelfân.

"Nay, neither of you are higher than I," insisted Legolas, pulling loose from Orgilion's hold and crossing his arms defiantly over his chest, a dark scowl transforming his features. "I am Tawarwaith; there is no higher rank. I am even superior to Ada. That is, once I grow up I will be. Everybody and everything in Greenwood has to do what I say or the forest will suffer and we will all die."

Both the Hawk brothers groaned in exasperation and stood. They shared their frustration with a silent look and then returned attention to the haughty little elfling at their feet.

"Fine. If you do not want to belong to Noss Othronn then you need not complete the final two tasks," said Orgilion sadly.

"I will let the others know of your decision. You will never be able to use the Secret Speech again, of course," added Menelfân.

"Nor will you be allowed to participate in any of the meetings of Yejquv (High Council). You will be the only one left out." Orgilion shook his head and sighed.

A look of dismay clouded his eyes while inside he was fighting to hold back a strange combination of determination and tears. Legolas' mouth and eyes had popped wide at the first statement of exclusion and his head pivoted between his elder brothers as they continued their dire pronouncements. It was a display of real panic that made Orgilion's heart wrench. All evidence of the omnipotent Voice of Tawar disappeared and once more they had just a lonely little elfling at their feet. Orgilion felt absolutely rotten for resorting to such cruel tactics to gain Legolas' co-operation, but the goal was too important to give in and offer comfort to his baby brother.

"No!" Legolas shouted and leaped forward, scattering toy elves and tiny trees awry, wrapping one arm around Orgilion's right leg and the other around Menelfân's left. "I do not want to be left out! I will do it."

"Good. I am proud of you, Legolas. It takes great courage to undertake a risk of this sort, but I promise you the outcome will not be bad. You will not lose the Noldor's friendship. This is one joke that is positively fool-proof," Menelfân knelt and gathered his baby brother to his heart. He, too, regretted pushing Legolas into this, but if he and Orgilion orchestrated two successful, and safe, pranks for Tuiw then Annûnfaen's scheme would never be realised. Above all, they must protect Legolas from harm. 

Legolas sighed as he hugged Menelfân back. "When?"

"They are at breakfast now and we will take it upon ourselves to instruct them in the best methods for success in the fish hunt. Afterwards, they will attend the Convocation of the Houses and the Feast of the Hunters. You must see it done before then, while they are still out practising casting techniques," advised Orgilion, crouching down to take Legolas from his brother and wrap him in a tight embrace.

"All right," whispered Legolas, head dipping low as the burden of the prank weighed upon him anew. 

"Come, then, you should have something to eat and we already told Eirien that we would bring you down to the refectory," said Orgilion.

"Eirien! She will find out when I see her and everything will be spoiled." Legolas's tone betrayed that he was relieved to recall this fact.

"Nay, she is bound by the constraints of Lim Rui just like every other elleth. None of the females may participate in the activities, not even the Feast," reminded Menelfân. "and since we took charge of you this morning, she is enjoying a day off with her sister's family on the edge of the city in the Foxes enclave."

"Oh," said Legolas, all hope fleeing from his heart. He would have to see it through now or prove himself dishonourable, his word of no more value than the shiny yellow lead humans tried to pass off for gold. That would never do for a son of Thranduil and would be especially disgraceful for the Tawarwaith. "I do not think I can eat anything right now."

"You must come along and try or Adar will be suspicious," warned Menelfân. He held out his hand and Legolas took it and together the three princes left the cheerful playroom.

They were the last to arrive and indeed were so late that Thranduil had just arisen from his chair to go and seek out his littlest elfling when the trio entered the room. At once they were greeted with a chorus of welcomes and maur-aurs. The King scooped up his youngest and settled him on his shoulder for the short trip from doorway to table where he placed Legolas in the chair right next to him. A plate was already prepared with the prince's favourites for since the disaster of the foul porridge the cook had been striving to serve him something different every day. Legolas did not object to that in the least and even Eirien concurred with this arrangement, for he was more willing to consume what was set before him.

Legolas smiled at the steaming stack of griddle cakes rising from the center of the plate. They were smothered in sweet honey and surrounded with a ring of alternating blueberries and raspberries. A glass of clear water stood nearby and Legolas grabbed up his fork and dived in, finding his appetite suddenly aroused. He shoved an immense chunk in his mouth and set to chewing, only then content to survey the room and listen to the conversations around him.

To his Ada's right was Lord Erestor, who smiled kindly when Legolas garnered his notice by vigourously waving a sticky fork quite close to the regal elf's long straight nose. The aloof Noldorin noble looked rather pale but otherwise there was no indication that he had been attacked by a were-worm, for his appearance and manner were flawlessly cordial while retaining exactly the correct amount of formality for breakfast with the King's family. Beside Erestor sat Sîr, quietly nibbling at an apple, a far away, distracted, and decidedly worried expression in his troubled eyes. He smiled half-heartedly when Legolas wished him good-morning, still distraught over the terrible row he had had with Tulus. Life for the Prince of the Beeches had become immensely complicated incredibly quickly and with Lim Rui at hand he was unlikely to be able to consult his Adar, or even Galion, for at least two days. 

Ithiloth was on the King's other hand across from Legolas and sent her nephew a serious look intended to prevent even the thought of trouble from germinating in his fertile brain. Legolas knew how to handle her, however, and stood on his chair to pronounce a solemn Morning Blessing from Tawar for which everyone had to rise and bow toward the heart of the forest. The Silver Queen at once responded with proper and respectful gratitude, pleased to see the nascent Tawarwaith so immersed in the sacred legacy of their House. Lothanor was next to Sîr, for she was the First Daughter of the First Wife and would become Queen of Greenwood if Sîr failed to wed. She was chatting with Brithla and their mother, Calargyll, about Lim Rui, bemoaning the fact that none of the Ladies of the Houses were permitted to join in. Brithla parroted back her sister's views but neither could get their Nana to concur. Calargyll had other things on her mind. She tried to catch Thranduil's glance, certain something was up among their combined brood, but he was either thoroughly engrossed in whatever Lord Erestor was saying or deliberately ignoring her.

The youngest Butterfly Daughter, Gwithiriel, was normally found next to Glamor for the two were inseparable friends as well as sisters, but the contention over the Balrog Escapade had made them enemies. She sat with her back angled to Glamor's face, talking with the Raven twins across the table instead. Huneb'ell, seated between Glamor and Galurem, did not fail to notice the dissension between her daughter and Gwithiriel, though she had been unable to get either elleth to reveal the nature of the quarrel. She sat across from Corchrîn, with whom she exchanged meaningless small-talk and portentous glances. 

Corchrîn was just as convinced as her fellow wives that trouble was simmering, noting how coldly Galu was treating Annûn. Generally the two got along well enough, considering they were siblings and shared little in common except a couple of friends among the sylvan population. Actually, Galu had few companions outside of Annûn's circle. The Foxes were a powerful House and having disowned and shamed Galurem was enough to cause lesser clans to treat him with indifference at best and open scorn at worst. The Raven House had a history of supporting the Foxes contentious position, a policy Thranduil's beloved had never agreed with, and Corchrîn always encouraged her children to include Galurem in their activities. 

The twins were less amenable to this than her daughter and Corchrin was honest enough to understand that this was because Annûn was not like the rest of Thranduil's sellath (daughters). She was different and it was this shared condition that lay at the base of the friendship between her and Galu. To see them so much at odds was a very bad sign, for it was not in either one's nature to be unkind without cause, particularly Galu, and the only cause that generally evoked his wrath involved Legolas. Putting all this together, Corchrîn was on the verge of feeling alarmed but knew better than to attempt to get any of the siblings to reveal whatever was happening. She, too, sought her husband's attention, but Thranduil was busy trying to get Legolas to resume eating. The child was completely absorbed in watching his Hawk brothers and the Noldorin warriors at the end of the table.

Now more than likely, Corchrîn would have succeeded eventually and perhaps some kind of intervention might have been brought to bear upon all the King's children. Events were already in motion that pre-empted this, however, for the Hawk Princes had already launched their plan. No one was paying them any mind except for Legolas, who was watching and avidly listening to their words through the soft din of many voices close at hand. He was quite torn about the whole ordeal. On the one hand, he truly wanted to become part of Noss Othronn. On the other, the only way he would get to do so was if he fulfilled his part and launched a trick on his new friends.  _If only I could think of another way._

Suddenly Orgilion and Menelfân got up as did Cugu and Toloth and all four approached the King's place. The Princes bowed low and the Noldorin warriors bowed lower and Orgilion spoke.

"Hiren Adar, we feel it is unfair to ask our guests to participate in this hunt without having a chance to learn how to cast and draw the nets. In the spirit of our lands' new accord, we would like to give Cugu, Toloth, and Lord Erestor a few lessons in form and procedure."

"That is most admirable and thoughtful," murmured Thranduil, observing his sons shrewdly. He was no fool and detected the vaguely ominous, understated aroma of adrenalin, a sure indicator of a prank in the offing. Besides, it was Sîr's duty to attend the guests; the Hawks were seldom so willing to take on their senior brother's tasks. The King directed his gaze to Greenwood's heir and almost startled. Sîrgel did not even seem to be aware of the conversation. Whatever was happening, he was entirely in the dark and his Adar was at once concerned.  _Of all the times to give Eirien a day off, I chose today._  "It would indeed be discourteous to put our guests at a disadvantage during the Fish Hunt."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. Though we have no hope of winning in this fishing competition even with such aid, we are highly honoured to be included," replied Cugu with real glee. He waved back at Legolas since the elfling was fairly jumping up and down in his seat hoping to be noticed.

Toloth smiled to see Legolas so excited. "Maur-aur, Prince of the Forest. Will you be taking part in the fishing trip?"

"No, Ada says I am too little to go. I am not! I could catch more of those Naew Velig (Big Jaws) than anyone," boasted the child, shooting his Ada a resentful glower and kicking the leg of the table so hard his juice sloshed over and made a spill. 

"Legolas Thranduilion!" admonished Ithiloth, cheeks colouring to have the Noldor witness this unseemly behaviour on top of the debacle at dinner. "You will maintain a respectful demeanour in the presence of your elders at all times. Such displays of discourtesy are unworthy of the Tawarwaith."

"Tuiw, the only way to catch Naew Velig is to use the boats," Sîr cut off her tirade with this quiet reminder. He reached over to squeeze the elfling's shoulder as the memory of why he hated boats instantly drained away all Legolas' insolence.

"Forgive me, Legolas," said Toloth, upset to have once again emphasised the child's loss. "I did not know we would be going in boats. In Imladris, fishing is done by standing on the banks of the river or wading along in the shallows."

"Aye, we do that kind of fishing, too." Thranduil pulled Legolas onto his lap and wrapped his arms around him, landing a quick kiss on the downcast crown of golden hair. "This hunt is different and only those of age may compete. It is a very dangerous activity but a necessary one as well. Legolas will be allowed to join the Lords once the hazardous segment is finished. You will be there at my side for the weighing and measuring, Tuiw. We will claim the winning prize together." He leaned forward and kissed the solemn little face as Legolas grabbed up a strand of the King's hair and planted his thumb between his lips. He gave the barest nod and shrug in acknowledgement, leaning back with a sigh into the comfort of his father's protective embrace. 

"What say you, Hîr Erestor?" asked Toloth.

Well, everyone wanted to uplift the grieving child, including stately Lord Erestor. He could not forget the magnitude of the Tawarwaith's compelling grace upon their meeting and yet was far more moved by the poignant interaction between father and son. It was upsetting; Thranduil had lost so many he loved already and it was plain that Legolas, though recovering, was not beyond the grip of this most insidious and tenacious of elven afflictions. If there was any way to aid him, Erestor was ready to do it. 

He studied the Hawk Princes from the corner of his eyes, careful not to permit this scrutiny to be obvious. Like the rest of the elder Elves, Imladris' Chief Advisor was not short on insight and his experience with Elrond's children had taught him well. Every subtle nuance of voice, posture, and tone indicated the Hawk Princes were about to pull a stunt and the worthy guardsmen of the Hidden Vale were to be the victims. Erestor smiled in devious delight; here was something to cheer up the downcast elfling and, if the prank was a really good one, might just overshadow the tale of his embarrassing altercation with the were-worms.

"I am certain Cugu and Toloth would benefit from Orgilion and Menelfân's instruction," he said.

A soft but audible sigh drew his eyes to the elfling in Thranduil's arms. Indeed, the sound caught everyone's notice and all interest focused on Legolas, who belatedly attempted to hide his woebegone dismay.

"What is it, Tuiw?" Thranduil asked. "Would you like to go along with your brothers and try your hand at casting, too?"

At this the Hawk Princes shared a dismayed look. There was nothing they could do, however, and resigned themselves to trust in their baby brother's ingenuity to refuse their Adar's suggestion and execute the grand scheme. Then a light nudge of a foot against his heel alerted Orgilion to Galurem's presence at his side. The three brothers silently affirmed their solidarity in guarding Legolas from the perilous quest the ingenious Raven Princess was devising.

"Aye, I do want to go with them," the child answered truthfully. "I just do not want to do my chores and if Cugu and Toloth are busy with Gilion and Men'fân, then I will not be able to spend the morning with them."

It was not exactly a remarkably astute answer and, based on their confused expressions, he could tell the elders were trying to determine the logic behind it. Since there really was none, they would surely conclude it had something to do with grieving. He was one step away from being confined to the nursery again 'for his well-being'. Legolas sighed dejectedly and put his thumb back in his mouth. Normally he enjoyed being the centre of attention but not when everyone was staring at him with such concerned and despairing expressions.

"Legolas, I will help you tidy up the playroom and then we can join Cugu and Toloth before the hunt begins," Galu stepped in and took matters in hand. Greenwood's Dragon Prince did not know the details of his brothers' plan but like everyone else he could sense the impending prank. He would do anything to protect Legolas and had denounced the Balrog Escapade as too dangerous for such a youngling. It was clear to him what his brothers were trying to accomplish, and if it was obvious to him it was transparent as water to the rest of the siblings also. A quick check at their disgruntled visages confirmed that; the Ravens and Butterflies were not pleased.

"Nay, it is a special day; let him go and have his fun with his new friends since he is not allowed on the hunt," Lothanor objected. She sent Galu a piercingly admonishing glare and then turned her ire on her Hawk brothers. Menelfân and Orgilion were immune to her silent threats and returned only a smugly indulgent sort of smirk. Nothing irritated the First Daughter of the Butterfly House more than this blatant condescension. "Or perhaps I should go and help Legolas as well to make sure he finishes quickly and can join you for at least part of the time."

"Three to undertake so paltry a task?" Sîrgel entered the discussion, having finally caught on that something was afoot and he had no idea what it was. They had concocted another trial for Tuiw without his input or approval, and that led to but one conclusion: Lothanor had convened Yejquv. If there was one thing that displeased him, it was having Lothanor usurp his authority as Iarwain o Yejquv (Eldest of the High Council). He threw in his lot with his brothers and the Dragon Prince. "Surely Galu and Legolas can manage well enough." The Butterflies and the Ravens sent him such smouldering looks of furious disgust that, had he been a lesser Elf, Sîr would surely have backed down. As it was, he returned the same contemptuous sneer adorning the Hawk Princes' features.

"Yes. Well," said Thranduil, finally acknowledging the now alarmed expressions of his wives' faces. There was good reason for their apprehension. The stand-off just presented had all the markings of a Sibling Civil War.

On the scale of Sibling Interaction, this was Very Bad, just one tick below Imminent Disaster, the highest level of danger possible. The last time there was a Sibling Civil War, Thranduil's kingdom was nearly reduced to chaos. The list of potential hoaxes and jokes was boundless, everything from spiking the wine with Enchanted Water to replacing the honey with raw tree sap. In fact, those were rather standard jokes and the King hated to think what new japes his children might invent. At any given moment, someone could, and surely would, fall victim to the royal offsprings' stunts. What was worse, this penchant for pranks was infectious and the citizens invariably took sides and took part. Before long, it would no longer be a Sibling Civil war but an all out feud between the Clans, with ancient grudges granted new life even as new ones were created. No one would be safe.

Though this was a serious situation, the threat of mischief on so massive a scale was not what kindled Thranduil's parental instincts to volcanic proportions. Legolas was at the centre of the brewing dispute and that could mean only one thing: it was all about the initiation. The distraught father tightened his protective hold around his smallest son and sent his elder offspring his most direly portentous and foreboding glower of remonstrance, a veritable guarantee of harsh penalties, up to and including Dung Processing, should any undo stress plague their muindor laes (baby brother).

"I believe Legolas can manage just fine without any help from the rest of you," he announced. "In fact, I do not want any of you interfering with Legolas' activities, whether they are chores, entertainment, lessons, or some other as yet undefined category. Is this understood?" Thranduil met each of his children's eyes, soundlessly ordering them to cease and desist all jokes, gyps, gags, tricks, swindles, scams, and schemes. 

He had little hope that they would honour this unspoken command, though they would pay careful attention to the letter of the law. He did not want to forbid the initiation outright but was determined to protect his littlest elfling from their machinations. Hopefully, removing the chance to help Legolas with the pranks he was given to complete would ensure they would be simple and harmless. If Thranduil had to endure stink bombs, centipedes in his bed, sour sap instead of honey, or catch the giggles from Enchanted water, he was up to it. He was willing to bear anything, endure everything for Legolas' sake. 

Thus, the King of the Woodland Realm, Principal Lord of the House of the Beeches, Last of the Royal Sindarin Monarchs of Doriath, inadvertently confirmed and endorsed the design of the Hawks and the Dragons. Thranduil had unwittingly, unknowingly, and undeniably chosen a Side.

A profoundly tense silence seeped into the cheery breakfast room on the heels of the King's announcement, obliterating any scrap of fellowship and camaraderie remaining. Like opposing generals on a field of war, Greenwood's princes and princesses glared at one another across the table. There would be no truce.

"You are right, Adar. Legolas is not a babe any longer and should learn to manage his responsibilities the same as any other elfling his age." There was no missing the triumphant gleam in Sîrgel's eyes as he smiled at Lothanor during this speech.

"We will do as you bid, Adar," Lothanor managed to grind out through her clenched jaws.

"There now, penneth; we will go along ahead and you see to your room. You can show us what to do with the worms when you get done." Toloth's smile was immense, a forced expression meant to mask his sudden realisation that trouble was on the horizon. Fully versed in the shenanigans of the Twin Terrors of Imladris and their faithful sidekick, the Abominable Undomiel, the intrepid warrior edged closer to his mate.

"Do you still want to come and help us learn how to hunt the fish?" Cugu noticed the escalating tension as well and leaned down to peer into the huge blue eyes. He was not intimidated by the pending cataclysm but did not want this little one to get caught in the middle and end up in the Silver Queen's disfavour again. The elfling had already endured two punishments in as many days.

"Aye," sighed the Tawarwaith. "Let me go and do what must be done." With that he slid from his father's lap, turning to give his Ada a hug and a kiss, his tone and manner so solemn one would think he was a warrior leaving for the Southern Patrol. He marched from the refectory, determination settled about his small frame as closely as the heavy cloak of destiny with which he had been born. 

He went straight to his rooms and took his time tidying things up. He carefully counted his miniature figures, dumping the evil creatures in a black canvas drawstring bag and gathering the various representatives of the free peoples into each kind's separate box. All the trees had to be arranged on shelves for they were too large to cram into a bin and might be damaged if he tried. Legolas was not about to do that and made sure to arrange the models by type and stature. As he worked, he internally debated what to do. Two things were certain: he wanted to become part of Noss Othronn and he did not want to make his Noldorin friends the subjects of his brothers' joke. How to make the two wishes coincide was the dilemma. The very last tree was settled on the shelf and Legolas sighed, sitting down on the bench to think, elbows on his knees and chin cupped in his hands.

"Legolas? What is wrong,Tuiw?" Thranduil called from the playroom door. Unbeknown to his son, the king had followed and watched the chore being done, taking note of the lacklustre demeanour his elfling prince displayed. He came in and sat beside the golden haired child with a smile, reaching an arm around the small form to comfort his favourite child. Woebegone blue eyes stared up at him, the cherubic face set in grim and serious mien.

"Ada, I have to do something that I do not want to do, but if I fail to complete it then something I do want very much will not happen," Legolas answered honestly yet as evasively as he knew how. He was not very good at hiding things from his Ada. Legolas snuggled up close against the strength of his father, wishing he could just tell him everything while hoping no questions would demand a confession.

Thranduil knew what it was all about of course and spared Legolas any probing enquiries. Instead, he rendered a more general sort of interrogatory counsel. "Is what you have been asked to do dangerous or harmful? Would anyone be hurt enough to have to see the healers?"

"No, Ada."

"I see. Yet you do not feel comfortable, even so?"

"Aye. I do not want anyone to be hurt inside either, where their feelings are. Like what happened to Tulus; I did not mean for everyone to laugh at her. I do not like it when people laugh at me and I have never met anyone who does. Have you, Ada?"

"No, Legolas, I have not," Thranduil answered thoughtfully, studying his son's troubled features, wondering with an anxious heart who was laughing at his littlest prince and why. He hugged Legolas closer. "If it is this much of a burden, then you should not do it, for your spirit is weighed down. Listen to your instincts and trust them; they are the best counsellors you will ever have and they are always with you."

"I know, but what about the other thing, the thing I want to have? How can I get it if I do not do this other thing?"

"Is this the only way?"

"Well, some other task would have to be done in its place that might be even harder."

"Ah. Can you modify the command?" Thranduil's query provoked a look of wondering hope within his child's eyes and he gave Legolas a conspiratorial wink.

"No one said I could not!" Legolas grinned.

"Then that is what you should do. Change it so that no one is to be laughed at or harmed, inside or out. I know you can find another way. You are Tawarwaith and though you are young the forest will aid you if you ask, as will I. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, Ada, I have to do it by myself or it does not count. I do not see how the forest can help me, though." Legolas' brow creased with lines as he frowned, trying to imagine how to get the trees to lend their aid. What could they know about were-worms and practical jokes?

"Well, without more details I cannot advise you further. I suggest you go to your favourite tree and meditate within its branches as you think on it. I'll walk with you to the gardens for I need to see how your Hawk brothers are doing with our Noldorin guests. How long do you think you need to complete this assignment?"

Legolas shrugged and sighed, rising from the bench as his father did. "Not long I hope."

"All right. I'll let you think on the puzzle for a time. Galu will come along to retrieve you so when you are done thinking, return here and wait. He will bring you out to the lake. I will have to entertain our noble guest from foreign lands, hmmm?" Thranduil bent to kiss his small son's cheek and instantly Legolas wrapped his arms around his neck, clinging tight in an unmistakable request to be carried. Thranduil smiled as he hoisted him up onto his right shoulder. "I am tempted to climb into the trees with you; I have been stuck in this stony fortress too long," he said.

"You can climb in my tree any time you want to, Ada," offered Legolas graciously. He felt better, even though the problem was not solved, knowing his Ada had no doubt he could see it done.

As for Thranduil, he left his youngest son in the garden with mixed feelings, concerned that the initiation seemed to be so great a burden. He did not remember it being so difficult for the others.

It is safe to assume the young Tawarwaith was exceedingly testy with his beloved trees that day, for the mighty oaks and beeches were thoroughly flummoxed and failed to understand what he was asking. What do trees know of jokes and rites of initiation engineered by a brood of Elves? Nothing, Legolas learned to his dismay. He perched in his favourite nook in his favourite tree for over an hour, exhorting the elderly oak to present a solution, a way to keep the were-worms alive, prevent the Noldor form becoming angry with him, and win the respect of his brothers and sisters. The hapless hardwood could only lament its lack of ideas and offer a kind of gently swaying apology. Legolas was forced to admit his Ada had for once been wrong. On top of that, he could hear the fun going on in the far meadow where the river drifted in lazy currents through the stronghold's grounds. That portion of the water course was used for training warriors in the art of boating and it was clear that teaching this skill to the Imladrian warriors was proving an amusing challenge to the Hawk princes.

Legolas sighed in dejected melancholy. They were all having a fun time, his new friends laughing and joking and shouting as much as the instructors and the obvious crowd of onlookers. It was so frustrating! All he had to do was pack the warriors' dress boots with were-worms and he could go join them. Yet this was just exactly what the elfling did not want to do, not at all. He just knew, no matter what his brothers said, that Cugu and Toloth would not find it amusing to stick their feet down into those boots and squish to death a handful of writhing worms, receiving a dozen or more sharp bites before the creatures expired. They would not laugh, not right away and not later on, either. They would be furious and when they learned who had stuffed their foot gear with venomous crawlers, their feelings would be wounded.

 _They will not want to call me their friend after that._

Another prodigious sough left the small Elf's lungs and almost simultaneously a great shout, a tremendous splash, and a rousing cry of Oh! all sounded from the river side. Bright braying laughter resounded amid spluttery coughs and groans. The foreign Elves most certainly had tipped their boat and gone into the water. Legolas balled up his hands into fists and pounded twice with all his might on the branch of the tree. It was not fair, not one bit!  _Tell me how to fix it._  he silently demanded but only a bewildered and woeful rustling of the limbs followed.

"How can I think with all that noise going on?" the child asked aloud. The tree concurred and advised its small charge to climb up higher where the air was sweet and cool. 

Legolas did so, eager to look upon the endless blue vault of the sky. Maybe that would help clear things up. In no time his head popped out of the upper most limit of the canopy and he broke into a delighted grin. All around him the green leaves billowed and swayed in the softly blowing wind, as if the earth bound giants sought to chase after the high white clouds scudding along in the airy expanse above them. Then Legolas caught his breath in joy: the butterflies were back! He hadn't known it was butterfly season, or maybe he had forgotten in all the excitement of having visitors and making new friends. If his hands were not engaged in clinging tight to the flimsy branches, he would have clapped in delight.

It did not take long for the velvety black insects to note his presence; indeed, it was as though the butterflies had been waiting for his arrival. From all around the treetops they fluttered around him, alighting on the leaves close to him, one landing on the top of his golden head to make him laugh. It seemed to please the delicate creatures to hear it and at once a sort of butterfly tag began, with various individuals fluttering up to perch on his nose, his head, the tips of his ears. In no time the elfling was giggling and had forgotten all about his troubles. Then a distant voice called his name and he remembered, for it was Galu, searching for him. The plot and his part in it returned to him at once and his smile disappeared. Just then, a trio of the inky lepidoptera proceeded to enact a lovely flighty dance around his head. It was wonderful and he wished his Ada could see it, and Cugu and Toloth, and Lord Erestor, too. 

"I doubt they have butterflies like you in Imladris," the little prince informed his fluttery friends and their jerky motions surely confirmed it. "Perhaps they do not have any kind of butterfly there at all." It was then and there he figured out the answer to his problem. 

* * *

  
"It was a wonderful idea, Tuiw," said Orgilion, but his tone was indicative of his deep dismay even if its timbre was cheery and bright.

"Aye, everyone thought it was grand," added Menelfân, equally anxious to sound positive while his heart was equally glum.

"Still, it hardly qualifies as any kind of prank at all, Tuiw," concluded Galurem without bothering to hide hide his disgust. "Whatever were you thinking?"

"I just did not want Cugu and Toloth to be angry with me. They are my friends, Galu," the child pleaded. Everything had gone so perfectly; why was it so wrong? "I thought the butterflies' dancing was very funny. They were playing chase and landing on my nose and ears. It was ticklish and made me laugh. I thought we wanted to make the strangers laugh, too."

Menelfân sighed, dropping to his knees beside his baby brother. "You know what will happen now," he explained in dreary hopelessness. "Yejquv will not allow this as a qualifying joke."

The three elder princes had herded the youngest off into the library so to interrogate the Tawarwaith. The Hunter's Feasts had been a huge success, more so than any other either brother could recall, and this was thanks most of all to the magnificent display of a hundred huge black butterflies cavorting and flitting all around the great banquet hall. One and all praised the scene and while the foreign guests thanked their host, Thranduil was as mystified as they. He sought the gaze of each wife in turn, especially Calargyll who delighted in providing just such unusual touches to her husband's many parties, but not a single one would accept the credit.

The King passed his eye among his numerous offspring, noting that they were equally surprised by the butterflies appearance at the feast. Except for his littlest son, that is, for of course Legolas had orchestrated the grand display all by himself, his alternative to the ugly, messy jest his brothers had hoped he would carry out. The little one was beaming proudly and, as soon as his Adar asked him directly, owned up to the 'joke', as he termed it. That was when the Hawks and Dragons all groaned in miserable aggravation while the Ravens and the Butterflies smirked in complacent delight. Thranduil understood the situation at once and so did Legolas. His happy bubble burst, his face falling into a harried expression of dismay as he met the eyes of his elder Hawk brothers, giving them a half shrug in answer to the open questions in their wide, grey eyes.

As soon as they could reasonably make their escape, Orgilion, Menelfân, and Galu exited the dining room with their baby brother in tow, ostensibly to oversee his bath but really to get to the bottom of the affair.

"We will naturally oppose this decision and force a vote," interposed Gilion, "but there are not enough votes on our side to make it good."

"Are you sure, Gilion?" pleaded the child, hoping there was some mistake.

Galu shook his head. "Nay, Legolas. Two Dragons and Three Hawks against three Ravens and three Butterflies equals our failure. Now there are still two pranks to complete."

"I wish you had done as we asked," said Menel softly, laying a hand on his brother's shoulder. The little one was all stiff and sad, fighting off tears that were just beneath the surface.

"I am sorry, Men'fân," he said glumly. "I will do the next joke exactly as you say, as long as it isn't against Cugu and Toloth. Why can't it be played on the Butterfly daughters instead?"

Gilion sighed and shook his head. "That was the plan, remember? We were going to make sure the were-worm trick was blamed on the Ravens and the Butterflies."

"You did not tell me that part," complained the nascent Tawarwaith indignantly. "I might have done it if you'd told me." He glowered at his big brother.

"You did not explain it to him?" demanded Galu, incredulous. "How can you hope to succeed if you keep Legolas in the dark?"

"We told him we would take the blame; that should have been sufficient," argued Orgilion. "He had only to carry out one small task and we would have seen to the rest. The Ravens and the Butterflies would be continuing their punishment chores now if Legolas had obeyed us."

"Never mind all that now," Menelfân interrupted before the disagreement could get worse. "We need to come up with another prank quickly."

"Perhaps you should include me this time," a new voice spoke. Sîr stood framed in the doorway, arms akimbo and a most disappointed expression transforming his features. "I am the eldest, after all, and have had more experience than any of you in thinking up successful pranks. There are some incidents for which I am the author yet which others are still held accountable, after fifty years or more gone by." The Prince of the Beeches strode into the room and scooped up Legolas in his arms. "Do not be sad, Tuiw, I know you were trying hard to make this work out."

"I was, Sîr," the elfling nodded vigourously. "Since you are oldest, can you not make the others understand and accept the joke?"

Thranduil's heir grimaced and shook his head. "Nay, Yejquv rules require a majority agreement for all disputes to be settled. Menelfân is right; we need to devise another trick, one that you can manage with little help and no qualms." 

"What do you suggest?" asked Galu. For many minutes the assembled princes waited for Sîrgel to reply, but he remained quiet, his visage serious and pensive. At last the others began listing the usual catalogue of jests.

"We could put gelatine in the baths and sprinkle maple-seed hairs in their underclothes," offered Orgilion.

"Who, the foreign warriors?" Legolas asked anxiously.

"Nay, the Butterfly daughters," said Orgilion.

"That is such an old joke," complained Menelfân. "We should craft an order to reassign all the talans in the fourth sector of the city, making it appear to be a careful forgery of Adar's writing all the while forging Lothanor's."

"That is too complicated for Legolas to do on his own," reminded Galu. "We should focus on the Fish Hunt, since that is to be on the morrow."

"Aye," Sîrgel agreed, a sly smile overtaking his features as he gave Legolas a little toss up into the air and caught him. "Tuiw, would you like to make sure more of the were-worms escape their doom?"

"Oh, that is a good idea," snickered Galu. "I think the best target would be the Ravens."

"Ah, so that you can win the prized boots?" laughed Orgilion.

"That and to pay back Fêrlass for his miserably planned tainted breakfast plot," agreed the Dragon Prince.

"What do I have to do?" asked Legolas, hopeful his big brother had an answer his conscience could abide.

"Just return all the Raven team's were-worms to freedom," explained Sîr. "No matter how skilled they are, if they fail to attract sufficient females to the breeding pools, they will not net enough fish to win the contest."

And so it was decided; Legolas was to empty all the were-worms out of their Raven brother's sack, replacing the venomous crawlers with harmless earthworms, for which Naew Velig had no taste. Little did the schemers know, Brithla, middle daughter of the Noss Gwilwileth, had been assigned the duty of spying on the enemy. She had overheard everything and hastened away to inform her cohorts of the underhanded ploy.

TBC  


  
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